<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>racing into the night by yuudoufu</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515240">racing into the night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuudoufu/pseuds/yuudoufu'>yuudoufu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>midnight ambles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Crime Fighting, Cyberpunk, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M, No beta we die like dttwt when Dream dropped that fingerless glove pic and did not face reveal, Partners in Crime, Tags Contain Spoilers, Unrequited Love, Vigilante AU, Vigilantism, Violence, albeit not graphic, god has let me write horribly for another day and my readers will be the ones who suffer, introducing: Techno "you will not do this" Blade and Dream "oh i will fucking do this" WasTaken, kind of, neon lights, toffee swirls, tofu's orphanage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:42:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuudoufu/pseuds/yuudoufu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Under 2am lights and the guise of a restless night, Dream does not exist. </p>
<p>Instead, he is taken over by the name of Nightmare, who fights alongside the Blood God, tooth and claw. The city is their playground, and the constellations have bent over to give it life. </p>
<p>Yet despite this thrill, Dream has to make the decision to keep this life or discard it in fear for his friends and close ones, because, after all, sacrifices were meant to be made, were they not?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>ft. within intimate moments over a sparkling city, dream and george whisper secrets into the air meant for no ears but each other's</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>midnight ambles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>racing into the night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>drops this at your feet and runs the hell away because</p>
<p>[laughs nervously] what the ever-loving <em>fuck</em> did i just write</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>04.14.XXXX<br/>
5:12:32 AM<br/>
Location: ???<br/>
File ID: A2B301N2-374Y</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is one rule to fighting crime at night, and it is easy as: do not fight crime at night. </p>
<p>Do not. </p>
<p>Whatever compelled Dream to do so was absolutely stupid, and he’s stupid, and dear gods, why <em>did</em> he chose to take on such a large group of dealers at night? Maybe he woke up this morning and thought, oh, wow, today is the perfect day to wake up and chose violence; let’s go do that!—which was, in his most humble of opinions, the dumbest thing he’s ever decided to do. </p>
<p>Well, it’s not like it’s his first time out in the city after school curfew, gaze enraptured by the glaring neon billboards and signs and each airtrain that passes him in a giant gust of wind. He’s done it before, and he is able to handle it. Just a couple of bloody knuckles despite his gloves and some bruises here and there (maybe a broken nose or two sometimes), nothing Dream hadn’t experienced before. </p>
<p>But this...</p>
<p>“Maybe we can… talk something out…?” He slowly backs away, soles of his shoes sinking into the concrete with every step he takes.</p>
<p>Definitely got too cocky there with forgetting that backup forces were a thing. Surprise, surprise! He regrets underestimating the dealers so much, for fuck’s sake. </p>
<p>The moment he steps on a displaced soda can is the second the robotic hounds leap onto him, redstone running through their system and powering them with inhumane speed. They lunge at him, stone breaking under their feet as they propel themselves upward.</p>
<p>Dream starts scaling the building while the dogs snap their fangs at his heels, heart in his throat, and panic twisted in his chest. The microchip he’s taken is secured in his bag, leaving his hand free to grab the handle of the axe hovering behind his back.</p>
<p>He swings his legs over the roof and levitates on his skates while he measures the trajectory needed to propel himself onto the next rooftop. His shoes smoke a little with the overuse and the spike in speed, and Dream curses under his breath. Blinding lights blur past him in a mess of blues and purples, casting both his shadow and the ones of the hounds trailing behind him onto the floors of the building tops. </p>
<p>“Haha! Take an L—” Dream grabs the side of a small billboard, crouching onto its pole and swinging the frame into the next hound that leaps onto him. It falls in silence, hitting the ground below with a loud clang. Not even a second later, the piece of metal gets back up, piercing red eyes staring back up at him while it bares its teeth, “—or not—”</p>
<p>The pole starts moving under him, throwing him to the side. He’s nearly tossed into an incoming train, horn blaring into his ears before Dream manages to swing back onto the glass panes of an office building with his grappling hook. </p>
<p>“You’ve got to be shitting me—” he pants, looking to the side as his heart sinks with disappointment with how close the dogs are. “All this for a goddamn microchip? You all are insane! Do you never die?! The fuck are you built out of?!” </p>
<p>Dream feels a dart skid past his mask just as he balances himself, muscles burning with fatigue. It nicks his ear slightly, but it leaves a small flaring pain in its wake. He curses vehemently, smearing the blood away with two fingers. At this point, he isn’t going to get back to the dorms safely, not with whatever the hell these things were. The sun was only a mere two hours away from rising, and if he doesn’t get back before then—well, he’s screwed, to say the least. </p>
<p>Lost within his thoughts, Dream doesn’t notice the snarling hound that leaps onto him with claws of iron. It rips the sleeve of his crop top off, string hanging languidly from the torn area when he falls and rolls to the side. The dog rushes at him again, and with the remainder of his strength, Dream pushes himself into the air in an arch, and lands on his feet before kicking the machinery off the building. </p>
<p>“For the love of—”</p>
<p>The sound of razors catches his ears a moment too late. When he looks up, another pair of claws are outstretched, a gleaming gray against the dark backdrop. Dream doesn’t get the chance to move before the dog opens its mouth and—</p>
<p>—and its head is severed off. </p>
<p>Sparks of molten orange, a loud screeching noise like nails against a chalkboard, a bright red arc that materializes in the air like a spray of blood. The blood-curdling shriek of metal comes again when the sharp tip of a sword impales itself through the dog’s hide. </p>
<p>“Who the hell—” Dream coughs, propping himself onto his elbows and squinting through the rays of colorful lights. </p>
<p>A man clad in a gas and boar mask continues to slice through the advancing pack of hounds, bringing his blade down into their necks while his jacket trails behind him in a flurry. Dream grabs his axe, stumbling over to where the mysterious man is, efficiently knocking another hound off the rooftop. He grits his teeth when jaws clamp around the handle of his weapon, layers upon layers of razors spinning within the dog’s mouth. With a grunt, he pushes and knees it away, running away from the edge.</p>
<p>He bumps backs with his savior, who thankfully, does not discern him as a foe (Dream would not like to be killed with that sword; not today, nope, too early for death). </p>
<p>“You think we can take them on together?” he dares ask, cracking a smile from underneath his mask. “Okay, here’s the plan: I’ll take the ones in front, and you take the ones in the back, then we— Hey! Where are you going?”</p>
<p>Dream isn’t able to finish his sentence. The man runs off, and he does what Dream would have never thought of doing, because, one: turning his back against a fight was the last thing he’d do, and two: it was, by all means, the stupidest thing someone could do.</p>
<p>The man takes a running leap into the void below. A moment of empty silence, devoid of running cars and whistling trains; time slows down in tandem with Dream’s heart. Just as abruptly as it had come, the clock reverts back, and his breath comes back to him. </p>
<p>“Well, that’s one way to do it,” he breathes to himself. There was definitely a reason for the man to throw himself off, right? It was an irrational move, something that adrenaline hooked the brain to do; the stranger probably had a backup plan, and he was <em>not</em> dead. But what’s Dream supposed to do now, then? He can’t fight off all these hounds, and he’s surrounded for heaven’s sake. There were no other options but up, except for the fact that he can’t travel upward because he lacked the goddamn items to do so. He swallows thickly, coming to a hasty and messy conclusion.</p>
<p>On impulse, Dream follows suit and leaps off the building.</p>
<p>The wind ripples harshly through his hood and jacket while he free falls, an arm extended above him so he can grapple at a close structure to prevent himself from going splat onto the roads below. He’s three meters from the ground when someone barrels full force into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. There’s a pair of wings and a familiar gas mask—the last thing Dream sees before the two tumbles into an alleyway, skidding to a halt into a ditch. </p>
<p>He peels himself off the floor, groaning in distaste at their imperfect landing, and brushes the dirt off his outfit. Laying on the ground next to him is the stranger. Their mask is knocked off their face. Their eyes open as Dream scrambles back, revealing red to match the disheveled dark pink of their hair.</p>
<p>Dream stops. Opens his mouth.</p>
<p>“Techno?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.15.XXXX<br/>
6:23:14 PM<br/>
Location: Dorms<br/>
File ID: 82H47W0E4-23O9</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nightmare. Out of all the other good aliases you could have chosen, you picked Nightmare.” </p>
<p>Dream collapses onto his bed, rubbing his hand over his face and groaning, “We talked about this already, Techno—”</p>
<p>“It’s literally the worst name you could have chosen! The antonym to your name! You’re gonna have to wear that name every time you go out, now. Anyone could guess who one of the oh-so-mysterious vigilante of this city is,” Techno cackles, easing back into his chair. “Plus, the risky action you pulled last night was nothing to go by. You could’ve gotten us both caught.”</p>
<p>“Okay, <em>Blood God</em>, like your name isn’t just as bad. But, hey, hey, you have to admit, that was pretty funny.”</p>
<p>“I highly doubt you committing a trust fall off a roof in front of an ally you just met is considered funny.”</p>
<p>“You caught me though.” Dream shrugs, throwing his right leg over his left knee as he opens up his holographic textbook and pretends to study its contents. “I consider that an absolute win.” </p>
<p>Techno rolls his eyes, throwing his pen at the other, who catches it in the nick of time. “I don’t think crashing into the ground is an absolute win.” He pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, sighing. </p>
<p>Dream hums in response. “To be fair, I <em>could</em> have caught myself midair without your help.” </p>
<p>“Should have let you do that. Now my gas mask is broken.” Techno grimaces, stabbing a screwdriver into one of the nails in his mask. “Thanks a lot.”</p>
<p>“Sure, Blade. Hit me up when you want to go back out and I’ll break it for you again. Speaking of going back out…” The blond slips the microchip he’d taken from his sleeve into his palm, taking in its features. “I need to drop this bad boy off at the station.” </p>
<p>“To the authorities?” Techno scoffs. “It’s not like they will praise you for it or anything. They’d probably arrest you for having that on hand either way.” </p>
<p>“Geez, no need to kill the mood, man. We don’t even know what’s in this thing yet.” </p>
<p>“Not ‘we’.” The other turns around in his chair, eyes narrowed at Dream. “<em>You</em> don’t know what’s in it. I’m not going to have anything to do with whatever you pickpocketed from those dealers last night.” </p>
<p>Dream blows a raspberry, sitting upright and grabbing his computer. “Oh, come on now. You’re the same as me, right? Someone who tries to achieve justice against wrongdoers at night so not to be seen by law enforcement because they can’t do shit right—”</p>
<p>“Now don’t glorify the role—”</p>
<p>“—so you <em>should</em> be, at most, curious about what information is stored in this chip. Hah! Who would have guessed the infamous Blood God would be my roommate, Jesus Christ; did you know you were the one who inspired me to—” </p>
<p>“Listen, Dream, listen.” Techno cuts in, removing the device from Dream’s lap and snatching the microchip from his hand. His eyes gleam a deadly shade of red from behind his glasses, and the temperature in the room drops several degrees. “I’ve been doing this shenanigan for years, and understand when I say: you do <em>not</em> want to be out there for <em>fun</em>.”</p>
<p>“I’m not—”</p>
<p>“The thrill is intoxicating, yes, but there are deadly things out there in which you are not prepared for. You’ve merely scraped the top of the city. The horrors below will and can scar you for life. You, as someone who hesitates when drawing blood, will not be able to survive. Got it?”</p>
<p>Dream falls short of words. The demeanor in the room presses into his skin, pinning his elbows down to the mattress. He swallows. </p>
<p>Techno sighs, crossing his arms. “You will not be seen as a hero either. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again—the government is nothing but a hoard of corrupt fools. They do not pay heed to what happens below the buildings of this city nor do they care about those who are in need of assistance at night. They will not act on dangerous information given to them, and especially when it comes from someone who's just made an appearance on the streets. The police, the law enforcement—they will do nothing.” He tosses the microchip back to Dream, though hesitance falls heavy with every step he takes back to his chair. </p>
<p>“You can continue to live your dreams out; I can’t stop you there, but what happens to you is not my responsibility. I only found you last night because we were after the same group. As far as you know, you’ve never seen the Blood God, and you’ve never interacted with him. If we’re caught working together, I’ll end you before you can apologize. I do not work with anyone. Everything I do is for myself.” Techno turns back to his work, resting his head in a hand. “Take the microchip to the authorities or whatever. It’s better gone than here where it can get us both in trouble.” </p>
<p>There’s a tangible blanket of silence that drapes on all four corners of the room. Dream licks his lips, unsure of what to say. His arms are weak when he sits up, fingers wrapped around the small chip. A question pops into his mind, and his eyes drill into Techno’s back, mind taking a gamble whether to ask it or not.</p>
<p>“What- What are you fighting for then? If you hate the government so much.” Because all Dream does it for is for the exhilaration of being able to escape from the pressure of his studies and his mundane life. From what he’s seen from Techno, however, there’s something deeper to it, something that didn’t let the other have a choice in choosing whether he wished to accept the role or not. It was forced onto Techno—is what Dream is able to derive from how harshly his roommate had grated out those words of explanation. </p>
<p>Techno does not speak for a moment. The mattress creaks and the light flickers once. Then, he leans back in his chair, emerald earrings catching the dim rays of light.</p>
<p>“I have people who I need to protect. People who I have a debt to repay. For them, I’d give the world, even if it means running along the brink of death to avenge them. That’s all I’ll tell you.” He turns toward Dream, red eyes catching sea green. His lips twitch upward in a melancholic smile.</p>
<p>“One day, Dream, you’ll find the person you’d be willing to give up your life for, and only then will you understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.16.XXXX<br/>
7:39:01 AM<br/>
Location: Classroom<br/>
File ID: 279V74D6-27L9</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s been going through your mind all day? You seem distracted.” Someone pokes Dream from behind, and he almost screams, jumping a foot in his chair. From beside him, Sapnap laughs his ass off, reaching over and slapping Dream in the back. </p>
<p>“Staying up too late talking to a certain someone?” Sapnap wiggles his eyebrows, nudging his elbow toward George, who is the culprit behind startling the fuck out of Dream. “We can all see those eyebags, man.” </p>
<p>Dream lets out a peal of laughter that involuntarily chokes in his throat for a split second, coming out funny before he coughs once and laughs again. “I’m not talking to anyone, Sapnap. Or maybe I am. You’ll never know.” He twirls a stylus between his fingers. “Speaking of talking to someone, George you haven’t answered my DM’s since yesterday night.” </p>
<p>“I haven’t?”</p>
<p>“Do you even check our messages, George? Come on, George, I thought I meant more to you than this.” Dream falls back in his chair after his whining session, picking up his phone and swiping to their direct messages. He pushes it into George’s face, a finger pointing at the gray checkmarks underneath his unseen message. “9:23 PM, George! Even leaving me on read would have been better, but no! You didn’t check! Bro!” </p>
<p>“Yo, George, you should give me your number, too. We’re best buddies, right? Dream has your number already, so it’s fair that I get it as well,” Sapnap thrusts his phone into George’s face, and the poor guy looks like he’s going to ruin his face with the expression he’s wearing. </p>
<p>George shoves both phones away, taking a long sip out of his water bottle. “I just forgot to. Should’ve called me if it was urgent, Dream.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so only <em>Dream</em> gets to call you, is that right?” Sapnap exasperates. “I thought we were three pretty best friends, but apparently you two want me out of the group.” </p>
<p>“Come on, Sapnap, don’t be so dramatic—”</p>
<p>“—oh, <em>now</em> I’m being <em>dramatic</em>. You guys are the worst—”</p>
<p>“Bold of you to assume that there were three pretty best friends to begin with.” Dream lets out a wheeze as Sapnap smacks him with a palm from behind. The blond yelps in pain, rubbing the back of his head and mumbling incoherent things. </p>
<p>“I guess I’ll just sit here behind next to you two and suffer while you guys flirt.” Sapnap crosses his legs and arms, pretending to be engrossed in the holographic textbook opened in front of him. </p>
<p>“We’re <em>not</em> flirting!” </p>
<p>Dream acts surprised. “We’re not?” </p>
<p>“We were?” George shoots back; the genuine confusion in his eyes sends Dream over the cliff and he’s wheezing again, clutching his stomach and hitting his fist against the desk. </p>
<p>“All those text messages! Asking you to say ‘I love you, Dream’ back! George, please!” Dream nearly falls over in his chair, voice lost after that sentence. Sapnap rolls his eyes. George takes another sip of his water, glancing feebly at his phone. </p>
<p>“Please!” The blond begs after he recollects some of himself, stomach aching. “George, please say it back. Come on, say ‘Dream, I love you’, please, please, Gogy, please. George, I love you! I love! You! Say ‘I love you, Dream’ back!”</p>
<p>“You are so annoying, oh my god.” George doesn’t try to hide his amusement in the smile that spreads across his face. “No, I won’t say it.” </p>
<p>“Geeeeoooorggggeeee!” </p>
<p>“Hey, geez, don’t get so close to my face—” He flicks Dream’s forehead, sending the other kneeling back into his seat. “—my answer will still be no.” </p>
<p>“You’re the worst, George. All those goodnights I send you—gone down the drain! Have you no mercy upon my pitiful soul, oh kind one?” </p>
<p>Sapnap raises an eyebrow, scrolling through his phone. “Now <em>that</em> was dramatic.”</p>
<p>Dream practically melts sadly in his seat. There will be no validation today. A shame. </p>
<p>“Speaking of dramatic,” Sapnap continues, “have you guys heard of the guy who snuck into the police station this morning?” </p>
<p>Dream freezes in place, a cold sensation crawling through his chest and slowly tearing into his ribcage and embracing his heart. </p>
<p>“What guy? Let me see-” George takes Sapnap’s phone and squints at it. “Breaking into a building in the early morning? For what?” </p>
<p>Sapnap shrugs. “They didn’t steal anything. Just broke in and who knows what they did.” </p>
<p>“What if they hacked the system?” </p>
<p>“These are the <em>authorities</em> we’re talking about; it wouldn’t be that easy.” </p>
<p>George doesn’t reply, but his eyebrows are scrunched together at the picture on the screen. Dream’s heartbeat races and he turns back into his seat, internally swearing ruthlessly at himself. Techno had explicitly stated not to draw any attention to himself! And there he was, smack dab in the middle of the newspaper article with a perfect picture of him, nonetheless. Techno is going to be absolutely <em>livid</em>.</p>
<p>“Hey, Dream, does he look familiar to you?”</p>
<p>Dream snaps his head over his shoulder, fingers shaking a little before he takes the phone. On the screen sits a blur of his green cape and his trademark smiley face mask—all caught in high definition. He hadn’t been that careless with his steps, had he? He had been sure to find the easiest and most stealthiest way into the station to drop off the chip. So, then, how did the cameras manage to get his face? </p>
<p>“And get this,” Sapnap scrolls to the last segment of the article. The words seem to float off the screen for Dream, and the thing he dreads most suddenly comes true. “They were seen with the Blood God on a building! The most merciless slaughterer in the city! He only comes out at night, though, but even so, there are no records of him teaming up with someone else—let alone save them—until last night.” </p>
<p>“You’re acting like a fanboy,” Dream jokes, trying to assure himself that his two best friends will not crack the secret behind the stranger and his mask that quickly. “What, you look up to the Blood God or something?”</p>
<p>“Is— Is that what you’ve been spending all your time in the library for?” George jabs at the phone screen. “Trying to find out the identity behind the Blood God?” </p>
<p>Sapnap visibly flushes, and Dream’s never been so glad for an intermission. He’s sweating bullets, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. </p>
<p>“It’s not <em>fanboying</em>,” he defends himself. “You guys don’t know how much work I’ve been putting together to try to find out the Blood God’s identity and his purpose for killing! I swear to Prime, Karl thinks I’m going insane with how many red strings and thumbtacks I’ve stuck onto our dorm walls.” </p>
<p>“Sounds like a you problem.” George zooms into the picture, still enraptured by it. “All we know is that he’s a slaughterer and he’ll probably come for you, too, if he ever learns of this.” </p>
<p>“You don’t think I know that?” </p>
<p>“I don’t think he’s a slaughterer, per se—” Dream cuts in smoothly. “Tec— The Blood Good wouldn’t kill without a motif. He’s probably got a reason; he doesn’t just kill in cold blood.” </p>
<p>“You see, that’s what I’ve been trying to find out for so, <em>so</em> long, but I can’t dig up any past information about the guy! Even with George’s hacking skills, it doesn’t work! None of the archives hold any information about this man!” Spanap groans, hitting his forehead against his desk. “Now there’s <em>another</em> guy who does the same thing as the Blood God, and now I have to keep tabs on him, too!”</p>
<p>Dream’s tongue is stuck at the roof of his mouth, throat dry, unable to say anything. “Why—” he starts, trying to sound like he’s not on the brink of a breakdown, “Why are you so hell-bent on trying to find their iden-identities, anyway? More homework for the soul? Not like our teachers don’t give enough already.” </p>
<p>“You don’t understand!” Sapnap throws his hands in the air, almost hitting George in the face. “Once I’m hooked on something, I <em>have</em> to find out. The mystery calls to me.”</p>
<p>“That’s dramatic.”</p>
<p>“George. We are <em>not</em> having this conversation again.” </p>
<p>Surely Sapnap doesn’t have enough information to pinpoint his and Techno’s identities yet, right? Not in such a short time, he wouldn’t be able to. He fears to ask; Dream may slip up somewhere and reveal something he’s not supposed to. He better keep his mouth shut for now.</p>
<p>“I don’t know about you, but I think they’re pretty cool.” George stretches in his seat. The sun filters across his face, and Dream’s heart trips over itself in a good way that sends tingles to his fingertips. He lets out a sigh unbeknownst to himself, the fear coiled in his chest untangling itself, simmering away in the midst of the moment. </p>
<p>“Not as cool as me, though.”</p>
<p>“They’re probably cooler than you, Sapnap.” </p>
<p>“What, now I have to become some sort of vigilante-villain-thing to catch your attention? Is that your type?” </p>
<p>“Sapnap!” </p>
<p>“Hey, what about me, George?” Dream hops into the bandwagon, yearning for the other’s approval. “Am I as cool as them?”</p>
<p>“No way.” </p>
<p>“No way?” Dream places a face over his mouth in mock disappointment. <em>I’m literally the guy in that picture</em>, he’s tempted to say. (But of course, that’d blow his cover, and Techno would also blow him up with TNT after that. Not exactly a risk he’s willing to take.) “Then what will it take for you to notice me?” </p>
<p>“I’m already noticing you, silly.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, simp,” Sapnap chortles. “You and I both vie for his attention, one on one battle outside in the courtyard, for George’s love and attention.” </p>
<p>“I already have his number, which puts me at a higher advantage of being favored,” Dream says smugly. </p>
<p>Sapnap frowns, and the blond lets out a hearty chuckle at his immediate victory. “Looks like I win this time.” </p>
<p>“This time.”</p>
<p>“I’ll win next time, too.”</p>
<p>‘What the heck is it with you both trying to get my attention when I’m literally sitting right here?” George places his chin on his hand, propping his head up.</p>
<p>“Because you never pay attention to anyone—”</p>
<p>“—other than Dream.”</p>
<p>“You guys are so weird.” </p>
<p>Sapnap scoffs. “Says the one who says cold-blooded murderers are cool.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, cooler than you’ll ever be, Mr. Detective.”</p>
<p>A click of the tongue. “Touché.”</p>
<p>There’s more bickering after that, as they always do, but the topic of Nightmare and the Blood God had been dropped, to much of Dream’s relief. As long as Sapnap and George stay hidden from Dream and Techno’s second lives, then there will be no need for them to be put on the line because of Dream’s reckless actions.</p>
<p>And he hopes it stays that way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.16.XXXX<br/>
8:40:05 PM<br/>
Loction: Dorms<br/>
File ID: 162P4N59-2Q48</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno is not so discreet about his anger when Dream steps foot into their room after class ends. Dream barely gets to throw his bag onto his bed before Techno’s all up in his face, shoving his phone right between the other’s eyes. The same article about Nightmare and the Blood God sits behind the scene, the words innocently shining back at him. </p>
<p>“You literally had <em>one</em> job, and you screwed that up.” </p>
<p>Dream pushes the phone away. “It’s not like I wanted to be caught on camera, man. I was sure to enter from where there were no cameras. I don’t know how they managed to get a shot of my face.” </p>
<p>“They’ve also got a picture of us teaming up together.” Techno narrows his eyes, pushing against his temple with two fingers. “How the heck are we supposed to do our work at night now? One wrong move and either one of us will be caught; then they’ll use us as leverage against the other.”</p>
<p>“We can just not do anything…?” Dream says, but immediately snaps his mouth shut once he realizes the gravity of the situation. </p>
<p>“I’m shackled to this job. If I don’t do what I need to do, then—” Techno collapses into his hair, holding his head in his hands. A sharp inhale. “As long as they don’t catch us together again, we’ll be fine—which means that you need to get the heck out of what I do. We live two separate lives, Dream. Got that?” </p>
<p>“You don’t need to lecture me every time, Techno,” Dream bites back, annoyed. “I <em>know</em> that my work isn’t as important as yours; you don’t have to rub that in my face every time. I didn’t mean to tangle myself with whatever your endeavors are, Jesus Christ.”</p>
<p>“This is fine. It’s fine,” Techno sighs. “I’ll work through this somehow.” </p>
<p>I. Not we. Dream should have known better than to keep his hopes up. After weeks of being outside at night and stealing things of worth from crime organizations he’s vaguely heard of, almost risking his life just to taste a dose of adrenaline, <em>and</em> risking the identity of his roommate, Dream decides to stand down. </p>
<p>“I’ll stop,” Dream says out of the blue. An impulsive decision, but there was no reason for him to even be out there on a weekly basis. Techno’s situation was far more severe than his. Plus, with the authorities having gotten hold of his existence, it was better not to throw both him and Techno’s relationship into further jeopardy. “I won’t go out anymore.” </p>
<p>Techno raises an eyebrow, evidently suspicious of Dream’s words. “Are you sure?” </p>
<p>“Why the hell would I not be sure? It’s my decision.” Dream takes up his mask in his hands, running his fingers over the material and frowning slightly at all the time spent on creating this one device. “I’ll stop. Sorry.” </p>
<p>His roommate looks at him incredulously but doesn’t say anything. True, Dream’s decision was made too fast, secured in his mind within a few seconds. But he knows better. At least he thinks he does. Giving up his own indulgence for the sake of a close friend. A sufficient enough bargain, if you were to ask him. </p>
<p>He places his mask under the bed, takes all the other equipment he tediously created and shoves it into his closet. Dream brushes his hands and places them on his hips in a sign of promise to Techno. </p>
<p>Techno doesn’t say much about it; lips pursed into a thin line, both of them talk no more for the rest of the evening. The room is immersed in a sea of tranquility. The clock ticks somewhere from behind Dream as he hurries to finish his homework, nearly falling asleep at the lamp’s light. </p>
<p>He snaps out of it only when the bathroom door opens and closes. There’s the clinking of metal as Techno emerges with his mask on. </p>
<p>“You going out again?” Dream blinks up at the Blood God. </p>
<p>“I have things to attend to for tonight,” a distorted voice answers him. Without further ado, the Blood God vaults over the window’s edge, jacket undulating wildly behind him. Dream stares absently into the dimly lighted night even after the Blood God’s footsteps fade away. His gaze trails back to the textbook splayed on his desk, and he bets against himself whether Techno will come back at six or seven in the morning.</p>
<p>His phone rings abruptly, and for a split second, Dream thinks it’s Techno. He fumbles through the stacks of paper on his desk, reaching for his mobile. </p>
<p>
  <strong>2:14 AM</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Gogy &lt;3: hi</strong>
</p>
<p>Dream’s breath stops short. He rubs his eyes, making sure that he isn’t seeing this wrong. George? Messaging him this late at night? After two full days of ghosting him? Was he sleep derived to the point where he was hallucinating his own dreams while he was awake? </p>
<p>
  <strong>Pissbaby: you finally stopped ghosting me?? George? Is that you or another person</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Gogy &lt;3: of course it’s me, who else</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Pissbaby: prove it. Call me with the cam on :)</strong>
</p>
<p>He laughs at the way he prepared that bait so well, watching as the three dots in the corner move. </p>
<p>
  <strong>Gogy &lt;3: no</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Pissbaby: aw come on now. Voice call at least? :pleading_face:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Gogy &lt;3: i’m going to bed</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Pissbaby: PLEASE!!! GEORGE!! Don’t leave me :(</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Gogy &lt;3: sucks to be you. Goodnight. </strong>
</p>
<p>Dream calls him instead of replying, listening as it rings into his ears. When George doesn’t pick up, he calls again, and again, and again, and—</p>
<p>“What the heck do you want?” </p>
<p>Dream jumps in his seat. His heart flutters. </p>
<p>“I want to talk to you, George, I’m bored.” </p>
<p>“That’s something you have to deal with by yourself. Stop bothering me so often.” The tone in George’s voice is teasing, and Dream places his chin on a hand. </p>
<p>“I can’t stop bothering you when you’re always on my mind.”</p>
<p>A beat of silence. </p>
<p>“I think about you all night, but do you think of me, George? Hm?”</p>
<p>“Are you flirting with me right now?” </p>
<p>Dream lets out a chortle a bit too loud, but the heat has risen to his cheeks and he feels tipsy, drunk on nothing but George’s voice and the lack of sleep. “These are all my genuine feelings, George, come on. You can’t brush me off like that.” </p>
<p>“You’re so weird.” </p>
<p>“Mmmm… Only weird for you, though. Only can be myself in front of you and Sapnap.” His tongue lets loose, feeling his eyelids droop. “I feel like ‘m going to pass out.” </p>
<p>George lets out a light laugh, and Dream swoons harder than he does in class, his heart jumping to his throat and he thinks he’s on cloud nine for a hot second. “Why call me when you’re going to fall asleep before me?” </p>
<p>“Your voice is just too nice to listen to,” Dream yawns, at this point having no will over what he says, “lulls me to sleep. Hey, maybe we could fall asleep on call together. I think that’d be nice.” </p>
<p>“Oh?” </p>
<p>“Mmmmm…” Dream closes his eyes and rests his head against his elbow. His mind fogs out, only able to catch a couple of words from George, who sounds like he’s calling out to Dream.</p>
<p>He falls asleep on call, unmuted, with George’s voice drifting into his ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.17.XXXX<br/>
6:54:53 AM<br/>
Location: Dorms<br/>
File ID: X6W784B6-1725</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream awakes with a start, the open hologram in his face stabbing his eyes with a bright light. He shuffles in his seat, squeezing the fatigue out of his limbs. </p>
<p>He’s disappointed, however, when he realizes that George had left the call (when, he does not know, but he hopes that he can call him again tonight and bother the heck out of him). His chest squeezes when he remembers all the things he’d said to George the night before. </p>
<p>It isn’t like he hasn’t confessed his feelings before (were they genuine feelings, though? Or just something stupid?), but every time he did, George would flick it off like a speck of dust, unbelieving, while Sapnap laughed in his face and teased him. Good things never last, and neither will Dream if he keeps the emotions bottled within his chest. </p>
<p>This <em>should</em> be a trivial thing compared to the severity of the situation between Nightmare and the Blood God, but it’s <em>not</em> and it bothers him insane. He just wants to take George by the shoulders and shake the common sense into him, because Dream was literally right there, obviously a simp for George, and he just wants to take the other’s hand and maybe hold it for a while when they were out of class, maybe get to know each other more, maybe— maybe so many things more. </p>
<p>Dream falls onto his bed, nose scrunched up at the mattress of the bed above him. Only in his dreams will that happen, but it’s not so far from becoming a reality because George sits behind him, only a couple inches away from his reach—so close yet so far, and Dream— </p>
<p>Well, Dream doesn’t know what to do about it at all, because his heart is singing out for him to just <em>do the thing</em> while his brain tells him: <em>no, that’s literally the dumbest thing you can do</em>  and the rational part of him goes: <em>you will and can put him in danger if your cover is blown and you’ll lose him and then what? And then what?!</em> </p>
<p>No one understands how much he wants to run his fingers through George’s hair and maybe touch his lips or perhaps lock gazes with him and show him directly how much Dream yearns for the other’s touch through feather light butterfly kisses—</p>
<p>Someone rolls through the window like a dizzy bird with a broken wing, landing with a thud against the ground and knocking Dream out of his running fantasies. </p>
<p>It’s six in the morning, one hour before classes, and Techno barrels into the room with disheveled hair and blood caked on his outfit.</p>
<p>“Holy shit, man—” Dream starts, taken utterly by surprise, but backtracks once Techno rolls over, removing the mask from his face and breathing hard with the exertion. “The hell happened to you?” </p>
<p>Techno crawls to his desk, pulling out multiple drawers at a time. He rummages loudly through each one with a hand until he reaches the second drawer where he snatches out a syringe. With a quick inhale, he stabs it into his arm, injecting the liquid into his bloodstream. </p>
<p>There are bruises marring his skin, Dream notices. He rushes to the bathroom and pulls out a first-aid kit. </p>
<p>“Ambushed,” Techno manages to grunt out while Dream slaps a piece of gauze over the needle mark and taping it up. “They were waiting for me.” He stands up, only for his legs to buckle. Dream catches him with an arm, wrapping it around the other’s shoulder, assisting Techno onto his bed. </p>
<p>“Take it easy. What did you inject into yourself, anyway?” </p>
<p>“Antidote. From the dart.” </p>
<p>“Those are poisoned?” Dream’s fingers skim across the shell of his ear, feeling the scab of where the dart had shot past. </p>
<p>“Only if you have it in your body for more than a minute.” Techno winces. As the seconds tick by, his body relaxes. The antidote kicks into effect. </p>
<p>“How’d you get hit?” </p>
<p>“You’re asking too many questions, don’t you think?” </p>
<p>Dream shrugs. “You don’t have to answer.” </p>
<p>“Alright.” </p>
<p>Their conversation limits until the clock strikes 7:30, and by then, they’re both down in the lobby. Dream tosses Techno an apple from the breakfast baskets. No words are needed as Techno accepts the fruit and takes a bite out of it. He heads in the opposite direction of Dream. That’s the last they see of each other until they return to their room. </p>
<p>The news comes when Dream settles in his desk. Sapnap is already there, pestering George, and Dream’s all in for it. </p>
<p>“Did you hear about the eradication last night?” Sapnap goes on about gleefully, poking George’s arm. “I have more data about the Blood God now! Too bad the masked guy didn’t come tonight.”</p>
<p>“The masked guy?” Dream laughs, slightly offended. “You know they might have a name, right?” </p>
<p>“The authorities haven’t said anything about a name, yet.” </p>
<p>Dream taps his chin, feigning ignorance. “I read from somewhere that his name was Nightmare.”</p>
<p>Sapnap whistles, jotting it down in his notebook stuffed with bookmarks of all colors. “Catchy name. Kinda complements yours, don’t you think?” </p>
<p>Ah, crap.</p>
<p>“S-Sure.” Dream cracks a smile. “Must be a coincidence.”</p>
<p>“Anyway, as I was saying, the Blood God eradicated a whole front line of lackeys from a crime lord terrorizing the eastern part of the city.”</p>
<p>“A five v one?” George asks, interest piqued. </p>
<p>“Yeeep. And get this, when the police arrived at the scene, they found all five bodies and a footage of the Blood God in action.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a huge middle finger to the authorities.” George yawns, stretching in his seat. </p>
<p>“Oh? What makes you think that?” Dream inquires, suddenly aware that George may have caught on to something. </p>
<p>“Well, from what Sapnap and I have collected, the Blood God must be a vigilante. He attacks no one else other than the crime organizations from beneath the city.”</p>
<p>“Don’t ask how we got that information,” Sapnap adds on. </p>
<p>George lowers his voice, moving closer to whisper the next part of his explanation into Dream’s ear. “He’s not sent from the authorities, either. His weapon is more advanced than that of the police, something like a rare transmutation item that can change into any weapon at will. And we all know that the authorities let the crime lords get away with everything right, given the articles about more recent corruptions and how the figureheads of this city may be conspiring with the criminal organizations. So if you put one and one together…”</p>
<p>Dream’s awestruck. Even he himself hadn’t found out Techno’s identity that quickly if it had not been for their sudden meetup under the guise of their pseudonyms. </p>
<p>“That’s a lot of information you pieced together in a short time.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t that long of a time, but yeah, it is a huge middle finger to the authorities.” </p>
<p>“The man just left one, <em>one</em>, camera on just to have them watch him slaughter the entire group of people. Kinda morbid if you ask me.”</p>
<p>“The person under that mask must be very experienced,” Dream praises, and it’s true—Techno was an entire entity that Dream hasn’t seen before, even if their skills were almost on par. “If the Blood God is a vigilante, then I hope he never gets caught.” Not like Techno will, anyway. </p>
<p>“We’re going to do more research about them. You wanna join us in the library after classes?” Sapnap offers, turning to George as if asking for his silent approval. George, on the other hand, is way too lost in his thoughts, drinking out of his water bottle and staring out at the airtrains. A smile tugs at Dream’s lips. </p>
<p>“I’ll have to turn your offer down. I’ve got too many essays due tomorrow.” It comes out sheepish, and Dream rubs the back of his neck. </p>
<p>“Suit yourself, man. We’ll be in the library if you need us, though.” </p>
<p>Dream gives him a thumbs up. “Will do.” </p>
<p>All this information, Dream thinks to himself during class, but at what cost? Sure, there will be more amateur sleuths like Sapnap and George out there, but if they dig too deep, then they might just as well be digging their own grave. Dream nearly snaps his stylus in half. </p>
<p>If they realize that Dream is Nightmare (who's probably gone off radar, but not out of the minds of the authorities), then what? Will they turn him in? Surely, not, right? Even though he wouldn’t doubt their loyalty for a second, it was always a possibility—one that slowly crushes upon his chest. </p>
<p>The burden doesn’t leave his shoulders. It stays with him for the entirety of class, and it follows him to the library, where he spends the rest of his afternoon at. Dream flips through textbook pages without absorbing any of its content, thumbing through the rest of the given materials without a second thought. He falls dejectedly onto the table, closing his eyes and wishing for all those meddling thoughts to disappear. </p>
<p>“Hey. Mind if I take a seat here?” </p>
<p>Dream looks up, squinting into the bright rays of sunlight. George stands under the glowing brightness that catches and melts into the brown of his hair. It runs across his face in a stripe, and Dream can’t bring himself to blink once, eyes trailing to where the glow lazes over George’s eyelashes. A train passes outside, forcing the light to flicker in strips of butter yellow. </p>
<p>“Yeah. No— I mean— yeah you can sit here.” Dream clears his throat. He shifts his scattered notebooks over to the right, making space for George’s supplies. </p>
<p>“Doesn’t seem like you’ve started for very long,” George comments lightheartedly, eyes flitting toward the unopened books underneath Dream’s hand. </p>
<p>“Just have a lot on my mind, I guess.” Dream places his head on his forearms and stares blankly toward the distance. </p>
<p>“About?”</p>
<p>“You, myself, us.” He grins with a smile that matches the Cheshire Cat’s. </p>
<p>George doesn’t seem fazed. He plays along, actually, bantering with, “Last night?”</p>
<p>“I fell way too fast asleep last night, goddamn it.” Dream runs a hand through his own hair, eyes unable to meet George’s. There’s the sound of a digital textbook being opened next to him. “All that time I could have with you, wasted.”</p>
<p>“It <em>is</em> your fault for calling me first and then passing the heck out. Could have called me earlier, you know?” </p>
<p>“Oh?” Dream perks up, turning his head to the side, and observing the other’s actions. “I could have? You’d actually answer if I did call you earlier?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I do miss you. Sometimes.” </p>
<p>Dream’s chest constricts in a good way, stomach flipping while he sits up, looking directly at George, who remains stoic as ever. “Awww, George, you do?”</p>
<p>George hums, eyes scanning across the book instead of meeting Dream’s. And he wonders: Is what George said genuine? Does he think of Dream every night just as Dream does for him? Is that why the blond isn’t able to sleep at night, troubled by the butterflies stirring a storm within his ribcage, flowers smelling sweet of honey and licorice intertwining around his ribcage, making him feel out of breath with each thought that comes into his mind? </p>
<p><em>Look at me</em>, Dream wants to say. He wants to cradle George’s face between his hands oh so gently, fingers feeling his jawline, run them down his chin, too, maybe, then brush his thumb against an eyelid and lean in close and breathe into his ear, <em>do you really miss me? At night? Do you think of me the same way I think of you?</em> </p>
<p>But what comes out in reality is choppy, staggering with breaths heavy as the unresolved tension between the two, as Dream’s tongue loses itself trying to find the right words to verbally convey the mess in his mind. </p>
<p>“Y-You do?” Dream huffs out in a laugh. “Come on, George, give me a solid answer.” </p>
<p>George gives a glance to his side, fingers tapping against the table, just the two of them sitting on this long, empty table, looking at one another, waiting for the other to speak. Dream hears their breaths and the beating of his heart and the soft beeping of electronics and the soft whistle of another train outside and feels the sunlight rising into George’s eyes again, illuminating them, capturing them with the luminosity of a thousand diamonds. And his hand itches. Palm sweating, fingers twitching before he licks his chapped lips and tucks them into a fist and then splays them back out again, eager to reach toward George’s idle hand and maybe— maybe hold it for a while— maybe feel the heat of their hands collide and— and—</p>
<p>And Dream is the first one to break their gaze, unable to hold it much longer. He places his hands into his lap, rubbing the sweat off onto his pants and blinking rapidly into the shadows cast over the library. George shifts in his seat, looking somewhat surprised before tilting his head up and away. </p>
<p>“Sometimes,” George says finally. “I do read your messages, though. I wouldn’t neglect a call from you if you did call.”</p>
<p>“Call me then,” Dream replies without a beat. “Tonight. Again. If— If you want.” </p>
<p>George smiles.</p>
<p>“I will.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.17.XXXX<br/>
10:42:57 PM<br/>
Location: Dorms<br/>
File ID: 275R6KJ6-27W9</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream anxiously anticipates George’s call that night. He spins uneasily in his chair, legs swinging out in front of him, the heat in the room seeming to cluster around his clothes and sink into his skin. He bounces his knee multiple times, eyes never leaving the holographic screen in front of him. </p>
<p>“Yo,” Techno directs his attention to the half-opened window. The Blood God has a foot placed on the edge of the exit, arm raised upward to push away the bug screen. “I’m going. If you don’t see me by eight in the morning, tell my professors that I took sick leave—”</p>
<p>“Hold up,” Dream shoots the Blood God a quizzed look. “<em>If</em> I don’t see you by eight? Why won’t I see you by eight?” </p>
<p>The Blood God eases his head back into the room, dipping it down as he meets Dream’s eye level. “Tonight… will be difficult. I can’t guarantee that I’ll stop what I need to by dawn, so do me a favor and tell them.”</p>
<p>“Wait, wait. I can go with you if you need extra support. I’ll act on my own under your instructions and help you with whatever you need—”</p>
<p>“It’s not that easy, Dream. Though your skills match even my own, it’s not a two-man job. You haven’t had enough experience yet.” </p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake—” Dream tussles his hair angrily, “—you treat me like I’m an underclassman! I’m literally the same age as you— I can do the same things you can— I—”</p>
<p>“Listen, Dream,” the Blood God snaps, knuckles turning white from gripping the screen too hard, “You are going to get yourself killed. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again.” </p>
<p>“Fine! Fine. Fine. I’ll tell your damn instructors about your little leave.” Dream kicks back in his chair. “Do whatever your vigilante ass needs to do.”</p>
<p>The Blood God stares at him for a moment more before vanishing out the window in a draft of wind. Dream drags a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes in vexation. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, attempting to push out the ball of aggravation from his mind. Techno was just trying to push him away at this point, trying to get him away from whatever the hell he was doing. The fact that Dream isn’t able to do anything, both because of Techno’s words and his (sort of) vow to keep out of his roommate’s business, leaves him feeling like a failure. </p>
<p>Dream falls onto his bed, pulling out his mask from underneath the furniture and placing it over his face.</p>
<p>He’s got the abilities to fight back. He knows he can take on parts of the shady underground businesses, but given that he knows absolutely nothing about their organizations nor how they function, in reality, he’s just doing everything for fun. For fun, and nothing like how Techno does it for the people he’s sworn to protect. </p>
<p>There’s just no reason for Dream to be out on the streets fighting crime. He does it for himself, but it’s entirely selfish. He’s selfish, that’s what it is. Wanting another person who he can’t touch because of his inner turmoil, wanting more action because he isn’t satisfied enough with the terms in his life. </p>
<p>It was probably better this way, he keeps telling himself. The city doesn’t need him. They have the authorities. They have the Blood God. Nightmare was merely a pawn on the chessboard. The things he did wouldn’t benefit anyone. He should stop fantasizing about running on rooftops with the wind breezing past his ears as he steals from yet another circle of criminals. It isn’t his place to be making decisions that would directly hinder the actions of those who endeavor to actually eliminate the markets underground. </p>
<p>Dream lets out a sigh in his mask, eyes half-lidded while he watches the blue holograms within the mask thrum and locks on the tiny fly that’s flown in from the window left ajar. </p>
<p>If the chance came, then he’d take it, Dream thinks to himself, removing the mask. He places it under his bed once more, shaking his head. If that chance doesn’t come, then… then he’d give up his other identity and focus on his studies. But for now—</p>
<p>“You there?” </p>
<p>Dream picks up the call, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “Geoooorge, I missed you.”</p>
<p>George laughs from the other end of the line. “It’s only been like five hours. You’re so clingy.” </p>
<p>“I may be clingy, but only for you.” Dream feels the heat rise to his cheeks. He rolls up his sleeves and wonders if he should open the window farther. “So, you done with homework yet?”</p>
<p>“That’s the lamest conversation starter, but yes, I have.”</p>
<p>Dream glances at the last remaining assignment he’s been procrastinating on for the past two hours, lips wringing into a grimace. “Can’t say the same for me. Aw, man, why’d Philza have to assign an essay tonight? I’ve barely written the first damn line.” </p>
<p>George’s giggle burns fire into Dream’s veins, and it’s suddenly more stuffy in the room than ever before. His heart palpitates and his mouth goes dry. </p>
<p>“You need to work on it faster, maybe.”</p>
<p>“I need to work on a lot of things faster.” </p>
<p>“Like?” </p>
<p>“Asking you out on a date before Sapnap does.”</p>
<p>Even from behind the screen, Dream can see George place his head into his hands. He barks out a laugh, leaning back in his seat and nearly falls over. </p>
<p>“Oh my god, I swear if this is a bet—”</p>
<p>“It’s not!” Dream rushes to say. “It’s not! I’ll literally ask you on a date right now. George, will you go out on a date with me?” </p>
<p>“This has got to be a joke.” </p>
<p>“Come on, answer my question, George.” Dream steeples his fingers together. He bounces his leg under the table, half hoping that George will say no and half hoping that he will say yes, though he wouldn’t be surprised if George took it as a joke like he always did. He wouldn’t be surprised, no, not at all, just maybe a little bit disappointed. </p>
<p>“I won’t answer that right now.” George’s voice isn’t forceful or aggressive, thankfully. It’s hesitant, as if he’s biting syllable by syllable through each word.</p>
<p>Dream sucks in a breath. “Okay, yeah, fair enough.” His heart sinks. He bites his nail, feeling the awkward tautness stretch between their two screens. A gap greater than the seven seas reside between them, and Dream’s mouth opens and closes, bottom lip wobbling, trying to switch the topic at hand. </p>
<p>“It’s pretty quiet tonight, don’t you think?” Dream manages to get out at last. A bit too quiet, even. </p>
<p>“It is, actually. My house is pretty silent at least. Parents aren’t home and it’s just… empty space. Your roommate asleep? Is that why?” </p>
<p>“Ye-Yeah,” Dream lies through his teeth, eyes flickering toward the window. “You know, if you came over to live in the dorms, I could essentially climb to your window and sneak in.”</p>
<p>“Too bad I live outside of the school. I’d open the window for you every night, though.” </p>
<p>“Seriously?” </p>
<p>“I mean I could let you fall like three stories down or let you in. Or you could serenade me until I open that window.” </p>
<p>“You want to be serenaded, George? I can serenade you every night over call if that’s what you want. I know a couple of songs right off the top of my head. I’d stand outside your window and belt at the top of my lungs the words “I LOVE YOU, GEORGE, PLEASE LET ME IN”— actually I don’t think that’s a good idea, but—”</p>
<p>George lets out a wheeze and there’s the sound of something crashing to the floor before he goes silent on his end, and for a minute Dream thinks something bad has happened until George exhales loudly, coughing. </p>
<p>“We’d both get caught right off the bat,” he snickers, drawing a wide smile from Dream. </p>
<p>“We can both be trouble makers of this school. What do you feel like about being delinquents? Just take time off classes and run into the city and play video games all day.”</p>
<p>“Fathomable, but I’d rather work on my projects than play games.”</p>
<p>“Projects?” Dream echoes, curious of what George speaks of. “You’re creating things and you haven’t told me?” </p>
<p>“I’ve only told Sapnap, really—”</p>
<p>Dream whines. “You trust him more than me?” </p>
<p>“You know I trust you both equally. But this invention is mostly for Sapnap’s project, so it’s only reasonable that I tell him first.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough, fair enough. Mind telling me what it is?” </p>
<p>George bites the bait faster than Dream anticipates, and he launches into a whole spiel about how they’re planning to hack into the district archives and gather some information before preparing an attempt to track the vigilantes of this city (and oh, it’s the whole thing about the Blood God and Nightmare again, but Dream chooses to not refute any of George’s claims though it may irk him somewhat). </p>
<p>Steadily, the sun rises above the skyscrapers outside, and Dream finds himself being lulled to sleep again by George’s steady voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.18.XXXX<br/>
7:15:02 AM<br/>
Location: Dorms<br/>
File ID: 82RY5873-K264</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George hasn’t left the call when Dream awakes, but his mic is muted. A smile skitters over Dream’s face, and he quickly types out a “good morning handsome ;)” into their DMs before heaving himself off his desk. His joints pop when he stretches, one eye opening to see the still opened window on his left. He glimpses at the clock. </p>
<p>7:16 AM. Techno’s still not back yet. </p>
<p>Dream lets out an insufferable sigh. He’s got almost forty-five minutes left until classes start. Maybe he’ll wait for Techno after he’s done his morning routines. The bathroom door closes until the clock strikes a half-hour before eight in the morning, and to much of Dream’s dismay, Techno is not yet back from the streets. </p>
<p>He’ll have to leave before he can witness Techno’s return. Dream purses his lips into a thin line, taking one last long look at the glass before he packs everything up and travels down to the lobby. </p>
<p>Sapnap is already there leaning against a wall, phone in hand and bag half unzipped. Dream stands in front of him until the other notices, snapping his head upward. </p>
<p>“Oh, morning,” Sapnap greets with a wave of his hand, smiling discreetly to himself. “Sleep well?” </p>
<p>Dream lets out a loud yawn on cue. “Sure. You?”</p>
<p>“Research kept me up all night. I think I found something new yesterday night. I wouldn’t stop blabbering about it to Karl to the point where he nearly threw the entire mattress at me.” Sapnap leans in closer to mumble the next sentence under his breath. “It’s about the Blood God.” </p>
<p>“You and George have been working on something, haven’t you?” </p>
<p>Sapnap pats Dream on the shoulder. “He’s told you already, huh? How does it feel to be the chosen one? Answers all your texts and shit.” A deep melancholic sigh as Sapnap slouches further. “Anyway, I have new information, and George was able to get past the archive firewalls and access the camera records.”</p>
<p>“That’s… impressive,” Dream doesn’t stop himself from saying. “That’s a heck ton of deduction and dedication you got there.” </p>
<p>Sapnap smirks, jabbing a thumb in his own direction. “Years of training and cracking puzzles, for this one mystery. George helped a lot too, man, he was up like all night yesterday? At around maybe 5 AM to get those codes to the evidence.” He turns to the main entrance, the doors opening. “Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.”</p>
<p>George rubs his eyes wearily, blinking slowly at the two. “What?”</p>
<p>“Poor dude doesn’t even know the impact of his contribution.” Sapnap clicked his tongue, throwing an arm around George and bringing the other down with him. “Thanks to you, we were able to get new information, information that the government might not even know, about the Blood God!”</p>
<p>George doesn’t look a bit frazzled by the praise. “Oh. Nice.”</p>
<p>“You have all the files on your computer, right? Can you directly send them to me? Encrypted, of course.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, no problem,” George replies, patting his bag. “Hey, Dream.”</p>
<p>Dream blinks back into reality, mind slightly dizzy. “Finally acknowledged me, I see?” he jokes. </p>
<p>“I was going to say good morning until this moron decided to attack me.” </p>
<p>“It wasn’t even an attack!”</p>
<p>“Seemed like it.” George ducks away from Sapnap’s hold, readjusting his uniform and straightening his back. “Well, Dream, I’ll show you the files, too, if you’re interested. Or I can get you to serenade me first before I do show you as a bargain.”</p>
<p>Dream smiles brazenly. “I can right now if you want.”</p>
<p>“Later,” George returns his grin, “after class because we’re going to be very, very late.” </p>
<p>“I’ll sing to you as we walk to class, how about that?” </p>
<p>“In the halls? Are you sure about that, Dream?” </p>
<p>Sapnap waves a hand in both their faces, popping his head between the two of them. “Uh, who’s serenading who now? Are you guys flirting again or is this a joke I don’t remember? What the fuck did I miss yesterday? Did I miss anything? Guys?” </p>
<p>“George said he wanted to be serenaded yesterday on call.” Dream states out blatantly. “Who knew?” </p>
<p>“George?!” </p>
<p>“I never said anything like that.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my memory never fails me, George. I know what you said.”</p>
<p>“You’re lying,” George states simply, though his voice drips of slyness, and, <em>oh—</em> he’s playing like this now, isn’t he?</p>
<p>“You literally told me that last night!” Dream swings the classroom door open, scoffing. “Sapnap, believe me! I’m being gaslighted right now.” </p>
<p>Sapnap taps his chin. He throws his bag across the chair and considers for a moment. “Well, if George says it’s not true then it’s probably not true. End of discussion.” </p>
<p>“Hey! Come on now.” Dream barks out a laugh. “This isn’t fair!” </p>
<p>“Not all things in life are fair,” George interjected. </p>
<p>“Love’s fair, though. And war, too, maybe. All’s fair in love and war.” </p>
<p>“No, it isn’t.”</p>
<p>“Is to.”</p>
<p>“Is not.”</p>
<p>“Gods,” Sapnap groaned in distaste, “you two squabble like fuckin’ toddlers.” </p>
<p>“I mean, my contact name is literally pissbaby, so you can’t say much about that,” Dream muses, resting his elbows against the edge of his chair. </p>
<p>“<em>Okay</em>, Pissbaby, whatever the hell you say. Bitch.”</p>
<p>“Fucker.”</p>
<p>“Loser.”</p>
<p>“Stupid.”</p>
<p>“Now who’s squabbling like a bunch of toddlers?” George takes a long swig of his water before hitting Dream’s forehead lightly with it in a sign for the other to shut the fuck up. </p>
<p>“It’s friendly banter, nothing much.” Sapnap eases into his desk with an open-mouthed grin. “He’s the toddler for all we know.” He jabs a finger at Dream’s direction. </p>
<p>“When I get my hands on you, I’ll show you what this baby can do,” Dream seethes with all good intent. </p>
<p>“The girls are fighting again!”</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up, George. Like you have anything to say about this.” </p>
<p>George opens his mouth, retorts on the tip of the tongue just as the professor walks in and the murmurings hush. He wrinkles his nose at Sapnap, who returns the action by sticking out his tongue. </p>
<p>Dream rolls his eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.18.XXXX<br/>
12:59:43 PM<br/>
Location: Campus<br/>
File ID: 75We70q5-8365</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has two new essays and three missing assignments by the time lunch rolls around. Clouds have accumulated in the skies during the past several hours, hanging heavy and encompassing the tops of the many taller buildings. The ground smells of incoming petrichor, and cars pile in lines outside on the streets, traffic lights blinking red and green and yellow as they hover above the many headlights. They glare into Dream’s eyes when he squints up into the myriad of lurid billboards and shop signs that bleed viciously into the subdued gray. </p>
<p>Techno still isn’t back yet. </p>
<p>Dream taps his fingers against his thigh in concern. He bites his bottom lip, but not hard enough to draw blood as his vision glazes over with the impending feeling of fear. </p>
<p>It’s been nearly ten-ish hours since Dream’s seen Techno, and, holy fuck, what if he’s been kidnapped? Maybe even left on the streets, bleeding out? The possibilities are thin (he hopes), but his roommate hasn’t even checked in, and that’s what brings him a sense of unease.</p>
<p>He should go out and find Techno. He should. Dream picks at the fabric of his pants. No way Techno’s gone that long without something bad that’s happened to him. He’d need to go back to the dorms to retrieve his mask first, though...</p>
<p>“Are you going to join us for lunch, Dream?” Sapnap asks with George at his side. Dream turns his head over his shoulder, shooting them an apologetic smile. It’s really suspicious that he’d skip lunch with Sapnap and George, but he needs to find Techno first.</p>
<p>“Not today, sorry.” </p>
<p>Sapnap, as Dream predicted, is skeptical. “Got something to do?” </p>
<p>“I need to, uh, speed write an essay real quick. Due next period.” </p>
<p>“Aaaalright, then. Have fun with your essay, man. We’ll see you after school maybe?” </p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>Sapnap turns away, starting to ramble about something to George as Dream absconds through the door, back to the dorms. He doesn’t miss the lingering gaze George gives him while he exits. There’s a pang of regret in Dream’s chest, being unable to properly elucidate the situation at hand—but then again, that would put the both of them in danger, as well, and agh—Dream shakes his head violently. </p>
<p>It’s drizzling outside when Dream hastily equips his gear, the feeling of his axe in his hand bringing to him a type of comfort he hasn’t felt in ages. Pulling his mask over his face, he leaps off the window, arms reaching out to grapple his way up to the roof. His boots land with a light clunk. The wind whips through his sleeves and brushes down his neck when he starts sprinting, activating the skates on the soles of his shoes. They burn with iridescent green, sparks flying off the wheels when he leaps from one building to another. </p>
<p>Where the hell <em>is</em> the Blood God, anyway? Somewhere down below? Most likely, given the circumstances. Nightmare skids to a stop and scans the roads below him, but his mask detects nothing of the sort that looks like the Blood God. Surely, he can’t have gotten that far, right? Maybe a ten-mile radius from their dorms, but nothing more than that. It just wouldn’t be radical. </p>
<p>He hasn’t his phone with him either, and he doubts the Blood God has one. They were easy to track if non-disposable; it isn’t worth the risk. Despondent from the lack of communication, Nightmare hurries further into the outskirts of the city. It’s pointless, though, when he’s unable to pick up any trace of the Blood God being there, and he doesn’t have the time to carefully do a sweep through each and every one of the alleyways. </p>
<p>Nightmare lets out a dissatisfied noise behind his mask. The winds are picking up faster than the clouds can blow in, taking with them the onslaught of rain that pelts into Nightmare’s clothes like bullets. Time was limited; he has to make a choice now. </p>
<p>So, alright, here’s what he can do:</p>
<p>1. Go back to the school and wait for the Blood God to come back<br/>
2. Skip the rest of his afternoon classes to go look for him<br/>
3. Somehow whip up a device fast enough to track down his roommate and then follow it to god knows where</p>
<p>Just as he’s about to make a decision, there’s an explosion in the far distance, a large cloud billowing into the rain. That definitely is not supposed to happen. Never in the years he’s lived here has Nightmare seen an explosion in this city. </p>
<p>He’s running before he knows it, droplets of rain splattering across his mask as he pushes himself to skate faster to the place of the explosion. The streets start to become more familiar, and the realization slams into him harder than the rain does into his face. </p>
<p>A side of his school is caved in, debris littering the ground below. The far screaming of sirens reaches his ears, but Nightmare hears nothing but the faint scattered yelling of people running out of the building. </p>
<p>Sapnap and George. They are in the building.</p>
<p>Nightmare doesn’t let his mind wheel into infinite possibilities. He jumps down without a moment’s hesitance, barely landing on his feet before he throws the doors open, pushing past the wave of students running in the opposite direction. </p>
<p>The metal pole of his axe burns against his palm while he rushes up the stairs, flinging his body onto the hanging lights and propelling himself off of them. There’s collateral damage done to the walls blown in, Nightmare surveys the site of impact. </p>
<p>No one’s been crushed under the fallen ceiling, fortunately. Nightmare licks his lips, jumping back into action once he’s assured that no one has been injured.</p>
<p>He <em>needs</em> to find Sapnap and George to make sure they’re safe. They have to be. Out of all the days, why’d this have to happen on the day he was out? He spent enough time running back here; for all he’s aware of, they could be severely harmed, or worse, even—he’s not going to finish that thought. Nightmare slaps himself. He won’t allow himself to finish that thought. Not in a million years. Not until he finds them. He has to. </p>
<p>Nightmare lands onto the fourth floor of the building, and his attention is immediately captured by the clashing of metal and the loud fizzing of wires and broken pipes that gush out water. A bright red and obsidian purple clash somewhere close to Nightmare. He ducks behind a classroom’s wall, readying himself for combat. </p>
<p>The window adjacent to him shatters into pieces with a sharp ring, and a body slams into the other end of the hallway filled with water. </p>
<p>“Techno?” Nightmare’s eyes widen at the sight of his roommate, who slouches over, eyes closed. “Techno? Yo, dude!” </p>
<p>The Blood God pries his eyes open after a couple more calls of his name, visibly wincing in pain. A part of his jacket is torn, and his weapon is chipped all along the edges. The side of his gas mask has been sliced clean through. </p>
<p>“Dr-Dream?”</p>
<p>“What the fuck happened? Why— What— Where—”</p>
<p>“You have to get out.” The Blood God grabs Nightmare by the wrist harshly, but his grip is weak—shaky, even. “Get everyone else out. There are two of them. You have to—” He doesn’t finish before a fit of coughs seize him, rocking him to his core. </p>
<p>“Take it easy, take it easy,” Nightmare says. “Hey— What—? Don’t get up yet, you’re fuckin’ injured!” </p>
<p>“They’re going for Phil. I’m not sitting around any longer.” </p>
<p>“Phil?” Nightmare parrots. “What do they want with Philza?” </p>
<p>The Blood God turns to Nightmare sharply, and for a split second, Nightmare swears he can hear a hint of unadulterated distress in the other’s voice. </p>
<p>“A lot. They’re also going after someone else. Information. They have too much information. They will kill them.”</p>
<p>“They? Who? Who?!”</p>
<p>“The people you’ve been stealing from, Nightmare! They’re going to go after the people who’ve been tracking them and us down! They’re going after the ones who know too much. Too much for their own good. One’s already gone south, down to the second floor. I’m—” the Blood God lets out another raspy cough. “I’m going after the one on this floor.”</p>
<p>“You’re going to die!” Nightmare protests, hands trembling. He looks directly into the Blood God’s eyes. “You’re going to die—”</p>
<p>“Listen, Dream. Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>“Wh—”</p>
<p>“Dream, do you trust me.” He looks at the other directly in the eyes. Dream. Not Nightmare. Dream, Techno’s roommate, and not the night vigilante. Does Dream, as Techno’s friend, trust him? The answer’s blatantly obvious—</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Alright, then, listen carefully. Take this.” The Blood God shoves two pistols and ammunition into Nightmare’s hands. “I’m entrusting this job to you, Dream. Get everyone the heck out of here. The lives of your friends depend on it, too. Don’t wait for me, even if I don’t return.” </p>
<p>The Blood God launches himself onto his feet without another sign of pain and takes up his blade, running back into the classroom. He jumps out of the window across. </p>
<p>Nightmare grits his teeth with an intensity that leaves his jaw sore. He has enough faith in the Blood God. They will both get out of here alive. </p>
<p>“You better not die,” he mumbles into the air. The guns thrum with a pulse in his palms, and he places them into the holsters against his belt. He turns to the darkness in the corridor. The axe in his hand materializes in a flash of bright white. Sweat collects at the nape of his neck. </p>
<p>No, no, no, this isn’t the time to be scared. The Blood God can take care of himself. He trusts him enough to do so. Meanwhile, Nightmare has the other end of their plan to fulfill. </p>
<p>The hammering of his heart drowns out all other noises. Nightmare sucks in a breath, drawing his tongue over his teeth. Most of this area has already evacuated, he takes note of. One floor cleared, three to go. </p>
<p>He scours the third floor, but everyone’s already evacuated, to a portion of his relief. Thank the gods the explosion hadn’t happened when they were all in class. The damage would have been insufferable. He brushes his bangs to the side, sucking in a breath of air. </p>
<p>He jumps down to the second floor, where the Blood God had told him the enemy would be. The ceiling decays above him, bits and pieces of stone turning into dust when it falls. Adrenaline spikes through his bloodstream. Nightmare’s cautious, of course, taking in the sounds surrounding him as best as he can. </p>
<p>A crash in one of the classrooms nearly startles him half to death. He grips his axe harder. </p>
<p>His footsteps tap against the cracked floorboards, the holograms in his mask zooming in on everything that moved. </p>
<p>An impalpable gust of wind blows behind him, something that he wouldn’t have caught if not for a sharp inhale of breath. Nightmare whips around at the speed of light, his axe several centimeters from someone’s face. </p>
<p>“Sapnap?” he breathes, lowering his weapon. With terror instilled in his eyes, Sapnap flings a piece of concrete at Nightmare, who ducks efficiently and does a flip backward to evade the blow. </p>
<p>“Hey!” he shouts. “Sap— I’m not here to hurt you!”</p>
<p>“Tough luck, buddy!” Sapnap charges at him again with the same piece of stone in his hands. Nightmare aims a kick at his friend’s arms, trying to disarm him, only to be met with empty air. He skids several inches back, head tilted as the concrete glides past his chin. </p>
<p>“Listen—!”</p>
<p>Another gust of air in which Nightmare detects fast enough to react to this time. George’s shoes squeak against the floors, a long metal bar poised above Nightmare’s head. The blond moves to the side, using the handle of his weapon to block the fist of another person. Rotating it rapidly in his palm, his fingers nearly slipping from the metal, he lands a light kick into Sapnap’s stomach, knocking the other onto the ground before jabbing the butt of his axe into George’s shoulder. They both stumble back, leaving just enough time for Nightmare to escape into the light. </p>
<p>“Nightmare?” The name falls from George’s lips, and Nightmare’s shoulders slack. </p>
<p>“You’re working with those—those people, aren’t you?” Sapnap bites out between his teeth, voice strained from the blow to his chest. </p>
<p>Nightmare puts out his hands in front of him, axe returning to its original state as an extendable pole. “No! No, no, I’m getting you guys out of here. Believe me. Everyone’s already evacuated. Come on.” </p>
<p>Sapnap turns to George, who holds uncertainty in his eyes. Their postures are both rigid, clothes tousled. Their breathing fills the room while time fills the space in between the two parties. </p>
<p>“I’ll get you two down to the base of the building, alright?” Nightmare says, beckoning them to enter the corridor. “I promise I won’t harm— LOOK OUT!” </p>
<p>The wall behind Sapnap breaks into a million pieces as a body forces its way in, claws longer than fingers stretched out at Sapnap’s throat. Nightmare acts immediately on instinct, shoving his friend away with a shoulder and taking the hit. The claws miss his arms crossed across his collarbones in an x, shooting up to wrap themselves around his neck. Nightmare finds the ground under him leaving, and he struggles in the stranger’s death hold, legs swinging frantically in the air, trying to find the ground, his fists punching feebly at the arms holding him up. </p>
<p>His body’s thrown out the window, pieces of glass scraping along his exposed skin, and the rain and wind shrieks into his face as he falls. Nightmare’s barely able to regain his breath before he launches his grapple up at the piece of metal beam jutting out of the third floor. The tips of his feet almost don’t  make it into the crater in the wall. He coughs, wheezing, lungs on literal fire that burns the oxygen he inhales. </p>
<p>“Which one of you is Sapnap?” The stranger demands in a broken voice. He glitches in overlapping blue and red, cracking his neck. </p>
<p>Sapnap falls to the ground, legs unable to hold himself up as his mouth quavers, unable to answer the man. </p>
<p>“Who?!” The man bellows once more, causing the ceiling to shudder. </p>
<p>There’s a tremor to his voice when Sapnap answers, “I am.” </p>
<p>Nightmare pulls out a gun right when the man lunges toward George with those claws aimed toward his throat. He fires a bullet that skims past the stranger’s wrist. </p>
<p>“I’m still fucking here, you know?!” Nightmare picks himself off the ground, leaping into a sprint with his axe at his side. His weapon misses the assaulter’s arm by barely a centimeter, fracturing the floor. “It’s rude to take your eyes off your opponent.” </p>
<p>The man narrows his eyes behind his headgear. “I wasn’t aware I was to fight a human.”</p>
<p>“A human? Hey, what the hell does that mean?” Nightmare hurls himself into what amount of space is left between the floor and the ceiling, bringing his axe down onto the stranger’s head. The man moves phases away, reappearing behind Nightmare, and takes aim at his mask. He misses by a breath’s width. </p>
<p>Nightmare raises an arm at George and Sapnap. “Get out of here! Go! Go!”</p>
<p>No additional words are needed to be said before George picks Sapnap off the ground, and they both dart out of the classroom. Nightmare pivots his foot on the ground. </p>
<p>“One on one with me. Us masked people fight. You leave them out of this.” </p>
<p>The stranger doesn’t say much, instead accepting the duel by running toward the exit, only to be blocked by Nightmare, who aims a kick into the side of his head. His leg is blocked by the man’s arm, so Nightmare retaliates quickly by manhandling a desk and kicking it into his attacker. </p>
<p>The force knocks his opponent back but does not do a good enough job of pinning the stranger to the wall. Nightmare takes advantage of the situation, promptly taking his leave from the classroom. Sweat clings to his eyelashes when the wall blows up behind him. He takes a quick glimpse at the ceiling and positions his guns toward the place that looks as if it’s going to collapse inward. He shoots four times. The ceiling crumbles in, a hoard of concrete and broken wires plummeting and blocking the corridor. </p>
<p>Without another glance at the wreckage, Nightmare speeds to the sound of footsteps, meeting up with George and Sapnap in a handful of seconds. They stop when they see him, and Nightmare places a finger to his mask, instructing them to keep silent.</p>
<p>He swings his axe into the cracked walls, kicking the rest of the pieces down to make way for a makeshift exit. </p>
<p>“You’re going to take Ge— your friend, and get yourselves the fuck to safety, alright?” Nightmare looks Sapnap dead in the eye. “The hook can only hold two. Now put it on, and <em>go</em>.”</p>
<p>“Wait!” George sputters, wrapping his hand around Nightmare’s wrist when the vigilante reaches out to shoot the grappling hook. “Our other friend—Dream—he’s in there somewhere. We have to get him.” </p>
<p>Desperation leaks between his words and Nightmare’s eyes lock onto George’s hold. He swallows the lump in his throat, the urge to take off his mask tugging at him. He bites back the impulsive words threatening to spill his secrets, keeping it in instead. </p>
<p>“He’s—” He catches himself when he realizes that he’s not supposed to know what he himself looks like. “Who—What does he look like?” </p>
<p>“Blond, lanky, looks like an asshole,” Sapnap provides, and Nightmare nearly laughs if the situation isn’t so dire. </p>
<p>“Green-blue eyes with a bag at his side?” Nightmare asks, eyes flitting to the hallway. The barricade he made starts to break from the punches the stranger throws. “He’s fine. He was outside before I came. I swear.” </p>
<p>George still looks tense, picking the hem of his shirt with his fingers. Sapnap’s mouth thins into a line. Nightmare knows they have no choice but to believe him, right? They can’t risk it by going back, and even if they do, they won’t find him, because, well, he was right here already. Nightmare worries his bottom lip. </p>
<p>“Okay, no more wasting time. Go.”</p>
<p>Nightmare extracts the hook that latches onto the building in front of the crowds amassed outside, blue and red of police sirens bleeding through the windows. He takes off one of the grabbing hooks from his wrist, snapping the band around Sapnap’s. George takes hold of the line, and Nightmare nods his head once before pushing them off the edge of the building, He watches in relief when they land on the ground, running away out of the campus. </p>
<p>The barrier ceases to become anything when the stranger draws his claws against the tiles. Nightmare takes out his guns and starts shooting, swearing under his breath when his opponent catches sight of George and Sapnap running away. </p>
<p>“I’m not fucking letting you get to them that easily!” The vigilante switches to his axe, swinging it in a wide arc and blocking the exit again. This time, he’s able to catch the man by the fabric of his shirt, and he hurls his weapon into a nearby wall, away from the entrance of the school. It swivels and bites into the stone, pinning the man there. He doesn’t flinch as he rips the fabric from the teeth of the blade, bringing out his claws again and going for Nightmare. </p>
<p>“You’re pretty damn persistent, you know that? But don’t take that as a compliment, of course.” Nightmare tries to buy time by trash-talking, fidgeting anxiously when he attempts to call his axe back into his hand through his magnetic bracelets. </p>
<p>The handle fits into his palm when the stranger lashes out. Nightmare blocks the claws with a handle, back screaming in pain from where he’d slammed into the wall. Then, they’re nothing but a blur of silver and blue, their colorful streaks highlighting the gray of the building walls. He’s being pushed back, only able to defend himself with his only weapon at hand. So, Nightmare, with nowhere to go but out into the courtyard, accepts the risk and does a flip out of one of the classroom windows. He lands with a thud, already pelting away before the stranger can catch up to him. </p>
<p>What he forgets to do, though, is to look up when he’s busy escaping, and in the blink of an eye, there’s a shadow cast above him like a harbinger of his death to come. Nightmare slides backward, arms in front of him for the attack he never receives. </p>
<p>Someone slams themselves into the clawed man, blowing Nightmare’s opponent away into a line of windows. </p>
<p>“You sure do get thrown a lot like a sandbag,” Nightmare jokes once he gets a look at his saviour. </p>
<p>“Shut up.” The Blood God gets up. He’s poorly battered and bruised, hair falling out of the rubber band’s hold, a sleeve missing, and a bad limp in his left leg. His right shoulder bleeds through the fabric; one eye is shut in pain. Nightmare winces his friend’s injuries. </p>
<p>“Fancy seeing you here.”</p>
<p>The Blood God’s eyes slide over to him, and they tangle into a dangerous waltz in tandem, back to back while they face the two challengers. </p>
<p>“Likewise.”</p>
<p>“Say, we haven’t had a lot of teamwork together, but you think we’ll make it work out?” Nightmare readies his axe, skates charging up with sparkling electricity. And, oh—he knows the Blood God’s grinning like a maniac by now because their force is one not to be reckoned with. Even if they’re both bleeding and at the edge of passing out, both of them know that they’ll fight back tooth and claw.</p>
<p>The Blood God lets out a low chuckle, followed by a sharp ring as his weapon transforms into that of a lance. “If you dare die in this battle, I’ll punch you until you come back to life.” </p>
<p>“If you die, I’ll rob you of all your supplies so that you’ll have to rise from your grave to steal them back.” </p>
<p>“Deal.”</p>
<p>They attack when thunder strikes in the skies. </p>
<p>Nightmare bolts up the smooth windows, wheels of his skates sliding along the glass with a burning heat. Biting his tongue, he bends himself backward, plummeting fifteen feet from the air, whipping his guns out, and starting to shoot. </p>
<p>The bullets ricochet off the ground, plinking with sparks of fiery orange. He catches himself midair with the handle of his axe, both hands wrapped around the metal, using it as a zip line. With the speed harnessed, Nightmare swings his legs forward, shoes charged with electricity, and zaps the cloaked figure in the face. His shoes meet the holographic mask, and the energy overload breaks it in half when the man dodges. The pieces shatter, and the headgear falls off. The stranger shrieks with pieces of glass in his eyes, allowing Nightmare the chance to throw his axe. </p>
<p>It deflects, however. The man’s acquaintance has slipped from their battle with the Blood God, blocking the attack with their arm. The weapon is hurled into the ground, splitting the concrete beneath with a sharp ring.</p>
<p>“God dang cyborgs!” The Blood God speeds past Nightmare, sword in his hands. The blade meets the enemy’s arm, but does not go through. The Blood God skitters to the right, turning his weapon into a machine gun. When he fires, the bullets embed themselves into the cyborg’s arm.</p>
<p>Instead of blood that comes out, a panel on their arm opens, revealing a smaller firearm. Crossfire ensues within the courtyard, and Nightmare sucks air between his teeth, watching as the Blood God gets pushed back bit by bit. His heels leave trails in the ground.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” Nightmare whispers underneath his breath to himself, taking his eyes off the battle momentarily to take in the setting around him.</p>
<p>Alright, what does he see? What does he see, what does he see—there’s water. Okay, there’s water. Water and—their opponent is a cyborg, right? </p>
<p>A plan clicks into place. If he can somehow get that water to flood the courtyard—or, or— </p>
<p>His boots slosh in the rising water gushing out from a myriad of scattered broken pipes. Wires—he licks his lips, sweat dripping down his temples—wires, wires, he needs wires—</p>
<p>The snap of electricity nearly tases him when he slices the sheaths off the wires hanging low from the bent metal poles. Hastily, he tugs them inward, kicking the pole until it bends to a considerable degree. It somewhat blocks the entrance, but nothing they can’t get past. </p>
<p>“Te—Blood God!” Nightmare shouts. He doesn’t even need to point out the factors of his plan before the Blood God notices the plan. He abruptly breaks combat with the cyborg.</p>
<p>There’s a cry behind him, and Nightmare doesn’t get the chance to move. His opponent may have glass in his eyes, streaks of blood colored down his face, but his senses are still sharp, it seems. The attacker slashes the area between Nightmare’s collarbone and his shoulder, extracting fresh lines of red from his skin and fabric.</p>
<p>Nightmare reels back, clutching his shoulder in pain that doesn’t reach his mind. It’s blinding white heat, but not yet registered in his senses. He gasps, eyes foggy when his hand comes up covered in blood. </p>
<p>Having secured the position of his rival, the stranger smites Nightmare once more in the leg with the gun he snatches from one of the vigilante’s holsters. The bullet sinks into his thigh, and Nightmare almost falls to his knees if not for the Blood God, who throws him over his shoulder. They dart off into the hallway, slipping behind the shelter of an intersection’s wall.</p>
<p>“Fuuuck,” Nightmare curses, now bleeding out from two places. “Was too… careless.”</p>
<p>“We’re not yet done. Hang on.” Techo rips off a piece of his jacket, tying the fabric over the spreading mahogany pulsing out of the bullet wound. </p>
<p>“My chest burns, for fu—fuck’s sake— Agh!” </p>
<p>The Blood God helps him to his feet. “You stay here then—”</p>
<p>“No!” Nightmare tugs the Blood God back. “I’ve got a plan—and—and—I will execute it. Now, listen—”</p>
<p>With faltering breaths, Nightmare tells the Blood God of his plan, words falling short throughout. </p>
<p>“The wound’s—it’s not that deep, yet. I can—I can do this part. It’s not like I’m in a worse state than you.” </p>
<p>“Technically,” the Blood God pops his own shoulder back in place with a grunt, “you are.” </p>
<p>“Well, fuck me.”</p>
<p>A smile slips onto the Blood God’s face, and Nightmare returns it with one of his own. </p>
<p>“Ready?”</p>
<p>“You know it.” </p>
<p>The Blood God slips from the shadows, shoes clicking against a split piece of fallen ceiling. Water laps at the edges around. </p>
<p>“Looking for me?” he announces with confidence lining every word, holding himself up despite the pain like a king would. Nightmare sneaks behind him, leg flaring with pain but the determination in his chest holds it back. </p>
<p>Their enemies rush into the corridor without a second thought at the sight of the Blood God. It’s a grave mistake, really. The electricity conducted from the wires Nightmare placed moments prior seizes them by the legs and travels up their body in convulsions. </p>
<p>From behind the Blood God, Nightmare leaps onto his partner’s shoulders, using it as leverage to thrust himself into what space is left between the two groups. He charges energy into his axe, green light flickering and popping around the weapon. </p>
<p>“This is what a real nightmare looks like.”</p>
<p>The blade lodges into the paralyzed cyborg’s chest, rendering them into submission as they fall into the water. Nightmare jumps from the handle of his axe, feet as nimble as his injuries allow them to be while he falls back to the Blood God’s side. </p>
<p>Silence befalls the battlefield. The rush is over. Footsteps approach the scene. More of the building creaks and crumbles. The axe returns to Nightmare’s hand, shrinking into a small pole with a soft ringing sound.</p>
<p>“Can you still walk?” </p>
<p>The police shout outside. The entrance doors burst open, free from the fallen ruins. </p>
<p>“That’s a question I should be asking you. But—” Nightmare’s sentence cuts off when an excruciating pain takes a jab between his ribcage. “—I can. I can.”</p>
<p>The Blood God doubts, fabric shifting he wraps Nightmare’s arm around his own shoulders. “Alright. Can you get us up to the roof?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”</p>
<p>Thankfully, the grappling hook is on his right hand, and he’s able to get the both of them up onto a part of the rooftop hidden from the police. </p>
<p>“We’re going to have to go our separate ways,” the Blood God states, wings opening behind him in a flourish. “Meet up at these coords. Call if you can’t make it.” He slips a piece of crinkled paper into Nightmare’s weak hand. “Now hold the heck on and don’t fall off.” </p>
<p>The Blood God takes a running start off the roof, and the wind carries them over the crowds in front of the destruction. Nightmare’s eyes are beginning to close due to blood loss, and his energy suddenly goes down the drain in a matter of seconds. </p>
<p>“It’s not that far from here, you can make it. We have to throw the police off our tracks.” </p>
<p>“Mhgghmm…”</p>
<p>Nightmare’s dropped off in an alley, his knees buckling before he even hits the rain-slicked ground. His vision swarms in his view. The Blood God messes with his wings, preparing to take to the skies. </p>
<p>“Don’t die.” Is all he says. </p>
<p>“That’s very… caring of you. Could’ve dropped… me off at the… safehouse… first...” Nightmare presses out. “But… Haha… You got it, chief…”</p>
<p>The Blood God touches off again, and Nightmare stumbles drunkenly past a couple of trash cans. He glances at the wrinkled note in his hand, reading off the address before his eyes roll to the back of his head and he passes the fuck out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.??.XXXX<br/>
??:??:??<br/>
Location: Unknown<br/>
File ID: N/A</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream feels a softness under his fingers as they twitch at his side. His eyes crack open, and the thrumming blue light from within his chipped mask greets him. He takes in a deep breath, only for his chest to constrict with a binding pain, and his arm flies over to his chest. Rough bandages meet the callouses along his palm, and he tilts his head down enough to catch a glimpse of white strips wrapped under his arm and around his shoulder. </p>
<p>He shifts, and his left leg groans with overuse in the knee and explodes into sparks of pain in his thigh. The fabric from that area is stripped away, leaving an awkward square hole in his pants in which under lies more gauze. The blood is cleaned from his wounds, though, save for the dull red smears seeped into his outfit. </p>
<p>When Dream sits up, his head swirls and he nearly retches onto the ground if he hadn’t covered his mouth. The room where he’s been brought into is darkened, but he can hear the soft rumbling of vehicles somewhere down below. He drags himself up from what he thinks is the couch, his forearm hitting the wall next to him to support his body which nearly falls over from the weakness instilled in his legs. </p>
<p>Where—he turns to the window, noticing the glittering of city lights below—where is he? A building taller than his dorm room—Dream’s able to catch sight of the many red backlights emitted from traffic crammed into the streets like a pack of sardines. This… This isn’t Techno’s base, is it? No way he could have gotten there after he— after he— </p>
<p>He passed out? Didn’t he? After Techno specifically told him to go to the safehouse. Speaking of the safehouse, Dream pats the pockets of his pants and rummages through his holsters (Wait. Where the fuck are his weapons?), but he’s unable to locate the piece of paper Techno had given him. </p>
<p>“Nightmare?”</p>
<p>Dream turns to the door, opening his mouth to ask who the hell Nightmare is before he realizes that, oh, he must have hit his head a little bit too hard somewhere because he’s still in his vigilante clothes with his mask on and his identity is not of Dream, but of Nightmare. </p>
<p>“Who—?” he starts, shifting his legs into a fighting stance. The figure at the mouth of the entrance stands with light hugging their shoulders and twisting into their hair from behind. Dream furthers his vision, and he backs up so fast he trips over the edge of the sofa, falling onto it. “George?”</p>
<p>George’s eyes widen. “How do you know my name?”</p>
<p>Dream reels to a halt, mouth snapping shut. “Your friend,” he lies precariously, “he—he said your name when you two left, uh, the building.” </p>
<p>“Did he?” George places a cup down onto a table. “I don’t remember that being so.” </p>
<p>“Maybe I picked it up from somewhere then.” His eyes flit over to George’s face, analyzing the other’s expression. The adam’s apple in Dream’s throat bobs, and he hopes that George can see the nervousness residing in his posture. </p>
<p>“Okay.” George draws out the word, handing a cup to Dream. Dream looks up at him stupidly, heat trickling into his raw hands. He nurses the drink as he watches George take a sip from his own. </p>
<p>“You’re not… afraid?” It’s a dumb question, he knows, but Dream simply does not understand why George, out of all people, would take him into his house and help him with his injuries. It’s a hard concept to grasp. Him. In George’s house. And he isn’t even Dream! He’s Nightmare, and George had no idea that Nightmare is actually one of his best friends in disguise. </p>
<p>George lets out a snort. “I mean, you did save me and Sapnap.”</p>
<p>“Sapnap—” Dream cuts in, swallowing his heart. “He’s—He’s alright, right?” </p>
<p>“Oh, more than alright. A little bit traumatized, probably, but the police have him on lookout.” </p>
<p>“Where did you find me? Why am I here? Who…” The voice drains from Dream’s lungs at the unanswered questions. </p>
<p>“You were half-dead in that alleyway when I found you. Took you back to repay you, I guess. Had someone come over to fix you up.” </p>
<p>Very vague responses, Dream notices, but does not push further. George had always been secretive about most things. A hard nutshell to crack open, but boundaries were boundaries, and he wouldn’t breach them. Dream stands up swiftly, his leg limping and his shoulder throbbing. He moves against the wall, placing the empty cup back into George’s hands when he’s finished with it. </p>
<p>“Did you happen to find a piece of paper with writing on it? I had it in my hand.” Dream reaches a hand out before he realizes that it’s caked with blood from where he pressed against his own wound. He smiles sheepishly underneath his mask, switching arms. George looks at his hand and the proximity between them, hands on the edge of the table, and Dream thinks he’s accidentally scaring the living shit out of him. </p>
<p>“I, uh, think I do.” George clears his throat. His gaze flickers to Dream’s smiley mask and then he busies himself with cleaning the table behind him, shifting packets of folders and devices to one side. </p>
<p>Dream steps back, giving the other space. He looks at his bloody hand, the rust caked under his nails and between his fingers. A grimace makes its way onto his face. He hides his arm behind his back. </p>
<p>“This?” George hands it to him, and there’s a tremble in his hand. Dream overlaps George’s palm with his own, cherishing the warmth of the other’s skin before he slowly takes the note. The heat lingers for a second more, and when it dissipates, it leaves a feeling of craving for more in its wake. Dream shakily unfolds the paper, his leg becoming sore from all the weight being placed onto it. </p>
<p>“Can I borrow a phone…? If that’s not too much to ask.” </p>
<p>“I—” George starts, and Dream’s heart plummets. “I don’t really, uhm, trust you enough.” </p>
<p>Dream picks at the paper. “Fair enough, fair enough.” Even without his weapons, George still fears him. He bites his lip, hand tempted to reach toward the other’s face, fingertips gliding over the crook of his neck, and tell him that Nightmare would never lay harm to him. There is nothing to fear, Dream wants to say, but it clogs in his throat like melted toffee; sweetness overcoming his senses, yet leaving behind a sense of suffocation that prohibits him from spilling out the truth. He stares into George’s eyes, wishing that the mask was not on his face, not protecting his identity, not there, so that George could see the pain suppressed in his eyes.</p>
<p>“I’ll call it for you first. To check.” </p>
<p>“Understandable.” Dream nods his head once, breaking eye contact with the other. He hands the slip of paper to him. </p>
<p>George dials the number and the vigilante holds his breath once a voice carries over the phone speakers. </p>
<p>“Where the hell are you?!” Is the first thing that tears through the silence. George retracts the phone from his ear at the sheer volume. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here—”</p>
<p>“Sorry, but who’s this?” George musters up the courage and asks. The line on the other end goes dead silent. What comes back is a dismembered voice, and Dream dips his head when he realizes that Techno hadn’t put his mask on yet. </p>
<p>“Who the heck are you?”</p>
<p>“Uh—”</p>
<p>“Name your price.”</p>
<p>“What? Sorry, wh—”</p>
<p>“You took Nightmare captive, didn’t you? What do you want.”</p>
<p>Dream takes this as a chance to interject the conversation between the two. “Blood God! I’m fine, Jesus Christ! He just took me in to take care of my wounds, he’s not whoever’s coming after us!” </p>
<p>The phone crackles with static. There’s some shuffling around. </p>
<p>“Alright, then. In that case, keep him.”</p>
<p>Dream gapes. “WHAT?!”</p>
<p>The Blood God’s tone, despite his voice being masked by autotune, is dismissive and indifferent. “Whoever’s on the phone right now, keep him. I don’t want him back. Goodbye.”</p>
<p>“You—” Dream sputters, pointing an accusing finger at the phone as he marches over as best he can and practically spits into the microphone. “You fucking bastard!”</p>
<p>“Meeeeh.” The line clicks and the dial tone plays. </p>
<p>“That son of a—” Dream rages. “Little piece of— Motherfucking—”</p>
<p>“What just… happened?” George speaks up timidly, and Dream’s anger dies down, snuffed out by the worried expression George dons on his face. </p>
<p>“It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m just being dramatic. But when I see him again, you bet I’m going to punt that bitch in the face,” Dream seethes, dragging himself to the exit. </p>
<p>“You’re going already?” A hint of dismay finds its way onto the surface of George’s words, and Dream halts in his limping to turn over his shoulder. </p>
<p>“I don’t want to over welcome my stay.” A lie. A complete, utterly white lie. He’d stay over for an entire night if he wasn’t so dirtied and had the authorities (probably) tracking him down as they spoke. He’d stay over like he stayed on those calls with George until the sun rose and the dew melted off the windows in the mornings. “Thank you for… repaying the favor.”</p>
<p>“I have an extra room if you want. Maybe. It’s stupid, but until your wounds heal? Maybe?”</p>
<p>Dream stares at George—this complex man who had taken his emotions and tangled them all inside him. George, who did not trust Nightmare enough for the vigilante to take his own phone call, but trusts him enough to allow him to stay over. Was it a lie, then, too? That George doesn’t trust him? Were they both tricking themselves into weaving beautiful lies that rolled out the tips of their tongues like candy and pinned the truths to their throats like adhesive syrup? Dream’s mouth runs dry with all the possible explanations he cannot grab onto.</p>
<p>George stands with his back against the table, eyes anywhere but at Dream, and the hollowness of his words finally sink into Dream—the emptiness carved into George’s sentence. The emptiness that created a hole deep enough to house the words screaming into Dream’s face, so subtle that if he hadn’t known George for an abundance of years, he wouldn’t have caught it. And it pleads at Dream, the invisible phrase clawing at Dream’s mind—<em>I’m lonely. I’m lonely. I’m lonely. I’m lonely.</em></p>
<p>With all those days out of the apartment that George’s parents take, Dream can only begin to comprehend the solitude he must have faced, living out here by himself. Having someone physically here for a few, someone who doesn’t only talk over the phone, someone by his side, may prove worth to the situation. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Dream murmurs into the sound of pattering rain emerging outside. Because there’s no way George will know, right? If he kept his secrets close enough to his heart, then he’ll never know, and he’ll never fall into the hands of danger. There’s no way George will know. Dream will be precautious. </p>
<p>“I’ll stay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.??.XXXX<br/>
??:??:??<br/>
Location: George’s place<br/>
File ID: N/A</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stays for a couple of days. </p>
<p>Or maybe it’s a week; he can’t remember. Time stops altogether like the world has fallen into a deep slumber even if the sun still rises daily in the east. The cars still run outside and the rain falls and the lights keep beaming onto the buildings, and that damn Coca-Cola ad is still poised outside the bedroom window, flashing brilliant reds and golds no matter how tight the blinds are shut. </p>
<p>Dream stares into its painful colors while he sits at the edge of the bed, springs squeaking from his weight. He stands up. He paces the room. Front to back, back to front. Repeat. </p>
<p>His leg’s gotten better, and though the wound on his shoulder still throbs slightly, he’s almost back to normal. <em>Almost</em>. </p>
<p>He hasn’t exactly talked to George within the past 25 hours, 12 minutes, and 46 seconds and counting, and it’s messing with his head because—damn is he stupid. Being invited into his house and not communicating for the past day since he’s been here. </p>
<p>Dream’s justifications for his actions are also, to say the least, inane, his mind spouting out reasons for why he hasn’t talked, because oh, it’s definitely because he doesn’t want to face George (more of the fact that he <em>can’t</em> bring himself to face George with all that he’s done and not said), or it’s because he’s still in denial of himself and his feelings and he’s going to mess up their relationship with the dumb things that come out of his mouth. But no, it’s not <em>any</em> of these, and he’s about to lose his goddamn mind for the twenty-fifth hour in a row; maybe, yes, he is a coward for not trying to straighten things out with George, but he’s taken refuge under the mask of Nightmare, for fuck’s sake, and everything he says will and can be used against him.  </p>
<p>But the yearning is too great for him, for he finds his hand hovering over the doorknob every time he breaks out of his pacing marathon. (And therein lies his flaw, unable to come to terms with his own bumbling thoughts despite the amount of time the universe has given him to do so). </p>
<p>Don’t get him wrong—Dream <em>does</em> want to see George, see him eye to eye without the blue of the holographic screen, lean in close enough to hear their two heartbeats, but, <em>but</em></p>
<p>the cars are too loud and the rain is a hindrance and the lights are too bright, and he can’t think straight with how the night has come so early with the rush of his thoughts. The darkness drenches his room in a bucket of ink and the strips of light from the billboard cascade across his bed and onto his mask. </p>
<p>He needs a cup of water, that’s what. Maybe some food, too, before he goes back into his abysmal train wreckage of internal conflicts. </p>
<p>So he reaches for the door, swings it open, and is swamped by more black that fills the halls. At the end of the hallway, near the couch where he had lain, is a dull light. Underneath lies George, head down on his arms. There’s a plate of food, the microwavable kind, in front of him, gone cold from how long it’s been left there. </p>
<p>A note lays on the side, neatly folded, and on it is scrawled: “Your dinner.” Dream puts down the note and pulls out a chair, eyes never leaving George’s resting figure. The light melts over his hood like butter and eyelashes when he pushes his mask slightly to the side. He picks at his food with a fork, shoveling potatoes and meat into his mouth. </p>
<p>When he finishes, George is still sound asleep, and Dream slips the plates into the sink, taking up the sponge to clean up after himself. The running water stirs the other awake, incoherent mumblings spilling from his mouth, causing Dream’s shoulders to lock still in a low-rising panic. George settles down again, words fading into the ambiance of the dinner table, and then does Dream allow himself to relax. </p>
<p>The rain continues pouring outside, wind blowing it into the small windows, splattering the drops into puddles at the sills. It renders Dream unsteady, as if the room has tilted, but nothing is moving, and maybe it’s all in his head. He swallows thickly, pressing a hand to his hand while he places the other on the edge of the countertop to steady himself.</p>
<p>He breathes—in, out, in, out. A stir in his stomach. He feels suffocated. Everything is pressing in, the walls, the kitchen, the stove, the table, the light, the windows, the couch. Dream near collapses had he not taken notice of the bolted door next to the kitchen. With the hope that a balcony or some sort of opening would lay dormant outside the exit, Dream unclasps the bolts and chains wiring the door shut, and swings it open. </p>
<p>Water whips against his face when he runs up the steel staircase, soles of his shoes slicking themselves with wet. He rips off his mask, clutching it in one hand as he breathes in deep, eyes fluttering shut at the smell of gas and slippery concrete. Dream lets the water run down his cheekbones and neck once he tilts his head up to the sky. The world expands around him. His limbs go lax. </p>
<p>His eyes open, but something’s different.</p>
<p>The wind whistles a melody into Dream’s ears on the rooftop—a place he’s familiarized himself with over the past few weeks. But, this— this is not the same. The world here from above has shifted on its crust, and he <em>has</em> to be looking from another person’s eyes, because this is not the city he’s lived in. </p>
<p>The lights do not glare with the force of a thousand sun’s rays as they had from his dorms. Instead, they have turned into beads of blurred circles overlapping each other, flickering like flames to a wind. The night is stuck in an impasse, locking the entire city in as the clouds from above curve in to hug the edges of the skyscrapers. Life below is a refined mess, streets buzzing with the energy to power every building around him, sounding like an abundance of interrupted chords.</p>
<p>From up here, Dream can taste the wind, tangy against his tongue when he sucks in a breath, can feel the life of the city, thrumming underneath the concrete, can almost fit everything in his palm if he reaches out. From up here, he does not feel the same. </p>
<p>Everything has softened around the edges somehow, and the world doesn’t feel as if it’s so crude anymore. A wonderful realization, Dream thinks wistfully, eyes half-lidded as he drinks it all in.<br/>
Taking shelter under the hood of a storage shed built in the middle of the platform, he hugs a knee to his chest, head rolling to the side. He watches the reflections of lights on the windows of far buildings, letting his mind amble over how they could be so vivid and lucent while the skies above were so desolate and pitch-black. It’s as if they had taken all the constellations from the sky and bent them so fit the structure of the night city and—</p>
<p>He’s going off on a completely unrelated tangent of oblivious thoughts again. Dream places the mask over his face, willing everything to go away. </p>
<p>“It’s kind of peaceful up here.”</p>
<p>Dream looks up as George appears from the shadows and takes a seat next to him.</p>
<p>“Yeah…”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you cold?” George asks, tilting his head to a pair of eyes who would not meet his own. “I brought you a spare jacket.” Warm fabric brushes against the skin exposed from Dream’s ripped sleeve.</p>
<p>“How’d you know I was up here?” Dream takes the jacket. Their hands touch again, and heat swirls up his arms and to his neck, and suddenly there’s no need for the jacket anymore. </p>
<p>“You left in such a hassle, dude. The door was open and the cold air woke me up.” </p>
<p>“Sorry about that,” Dream laughs, sheepish at his impulsive decision. “Didn’t mean to wake you up with all the trouble.” </p>
<p>“That’s fine. Doesn’t matter.” </p>
<p><em>Usually you’d sleep through anything</em>, Dream wants to laugh and say—what comes out, though, is, “You sure?”</p>
<p>“Sure enough—” George lets out a yawn, “—hey, are you laughing?” </p>
<p>The shake of Dream’s shoulders must have betrayed him somehow, and he barks out a laugh into the frigid air, unable to contain it. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “Seems like sleep caught up to you a bit too quickly.” </p>
<p>George rubs his eyes, stretching to one side. “I guess. Haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” </p>
<p>“Oh?” Dream pulls the jacket up to his chest, trapping his cold hands underneath it. “Why’s that?” </p>
<p>“Was talking to a friend all night—”</p>
<p>Dream’s voice slips in his throat. </p>
<p>“—and I guess I forgot to go to bed. And the guy who wanted Sapnap. I don’t know, it’s been on my mind a lot.” George shifts in his position. Their shoulders bump, and both make no attempt to lean away. He picks at the hem of his oversized shirt, and when Dream speaks, he doesn’t know what to say. </p>
<p>“They’re gone now—” Uncertainty fills the gaps in his words. “—hopefully. Hopefully, they won’t go after him anymore. Hey, you said that the authorities have their eyes on him, right? So he’s safe.” It’s a feeble attempt at reassuring George, for Dream himself also trips at the thought of those masked figures going after Sapnap again—presumably when Dream’s not there to defend his friend. </p>
<p>“It’s going to be alright,” he adds on when he sees the distress hanging on George’s shoulders. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” </p>
<p>George gives a brief nod, a finger drawing circles on the concrete. They elapse into a silence thin enough Dream could break it with one wrong move at any time. He doesn’t dare shift in his position, shoulder still against George’s, and maybe he’s leaning in closer or maybe George is leaning in closer but the warmth jumps through his skin and ignites the blood and makes his fingertips fizzle like soda pop. </p>
<p>Dream swallows. His leg and shoulder and heart throb. </p>
<p>They don’t talk even when the rain stops falling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.21.XXXX<br/>
12:43:45 AM<br/>
Location: Rooftop<br/>
File ID: 5812e9q5-0662</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It becomes a ritual for the remainder of the days Dream stays over at George’s place. They exchange few words in the daytime, but at night—at night is where all the words corked up are let out. They flow from Dream’s lips into the darkened surroundings, and George listens with an attentive ear. He doesn’t share much except for the jacket he brings up for Dream each night, which he lays across both their laps and they watch the last pigeon fly from wires on the other side of the city. </p>
<p>“There’s a friend of mine,” George says one night. Their shoulders are pressed against one another, closer than they had been during the previous times they’ve been up here, and Dream relishes the feeling of it. “He hasn’t contacted me since the day of the incident.”</p>
<p>“Worried about him?” </p>
<p>“Mmmm.”</p>
<p>“A close friend of yours, then I take it?” </p>
<p>“Very close.” </p>
<p>Dream’s fingers tap a rhythm on the ground. “I’m sure he’s fine, too. Maybe he hasn’t the time yet to pick up the phone. But I’m sure he’s fine.” </p>
<p>George tucks in a leg. A car honks in the distance and a motorcycle drives past with an engine that roars through the silence. </p>
<p>“I just miss him, I guess.” A quiet shudder of breath. “I really like talking to him. Late-night calls make me feel less lonely.” </p>
<p>Dream picks at his bandages, pulling out the threads fraying at the ends of the strips. He doesn’t dare look into George’s eyes. He knows where this is going, and yet he doesn’t stop the conversation from flowing. “Tell me about him.” </p>
<p>George huffs out a laugh. “He’s an asshole. Complete asshole. Has the biggest ego ever known to man—” </p>
<p>Dream cackles into the sky, and he catches himself before he can retort with a “that’s wrong”. He’s elated, becoming way too giddy inside. </p>
<p>“—but he has a big heart. He cares about a lot of his friends, and, well, that’s one of his best attributes.” </p>
<p>“One of his best?” Dream echoes, his chest swelling. George stares off to the distance, throat bobbing. </p>
<p>“He’s always completive and likes picking challenges with other people. Gets him into a lot of trouble, that’s what. And—” George pauses. He hesitates like the next piece of information he’s about to bring into the light is sacred, meant for no ears but his own. “—he’s just there whenever I need him. Every night, he texts me goodnight, and I don’t reply but I wish I did kind of. He calls me sometimes, to annoy me.” He scrunches up his nose. “I kind of like it, though. His voice makes the room less empty. It’s comforting.” </p>
<p>Dream’s breathless for a moment, all the words he’d taken to heart. It sinks into his mind and it’s an absolute earworm, words repeating within his thoughts like a mantra. So all of those texts had been seen. Just not directly. And those late-night calls… he enjoyed them? His stomach flips with taut nerves. </p>
<p>“You sound like—” <em>You really like him</em>. Dream doesn’t finish the sentence. It doesn’t seem like he needs to with how George’s lips curve into a soft smile under the compressed lights. </p>
<p>And, oh <em>gods</em>, George might reciprocate the same feelings, and what then? Under the guise of this mask, Dream can’t tell him anything but echo reassurance. A futile attempt to convey his own. </p>
<p>“I feel the same way for a close friend of mine, too,” Dream has the audacity to say against his thumping heart that hammers a bruise into his ribcage. “He’s smart, a bit too smart for his own good, but… yeah. He doesn’t know I’m— I’m what I am, but he supports me in every way, and he… he makes me feel important, y’know? I really like talking to him and it's embarrassing to say but—” his heart palpitates, “—I want to view him as more than a friend.”</p>
<p>George’s shoulders slack, and he tilts his head upward in a way that has the light curving around his chin and up his jawline. “We’re both in the same situation, then.”</p>
<p>And what situation, Dream doesn’t know, whether George is referring to their inability to contact their close friend or the parallel between their hidden emotions. Desperately, he prays that George hasn’t figured it out yet, because it would spell out the end of the world for both of them. </p>
<p>Dream gives a low nod, placing his forehead on his knees, the plastic of his mask pressing onto his knee. It’s then does he realize that George’s hand has made its way onto his own gloved one, fingers interlacing his. Dream curls his fingers in, and George follows suit, palm never leaving the back of his hand. It’s a comforting sensation, that George was here, physically, next to him, their breaths matching one another’s, their gazes directed at the wires strung between two poles. Underneath his mask, Dream smiles so wide he’s glad George isn’t able to see it. </p>
<p>“Your turn,” George turns to Dream, and Dream wonders if the other knows that they’re partially holding hands. George doesn’t heed the state of their arms, and so the vigilante lets it slide, letting the heat continue to his core. “Tell me about your little adventures.”</p>
<p>“You want to hear about my heroic deeds?” </p>
<p>“Enlighten me. I’m waiting.”</p>
<p>So, Dream delights George by weaving him stories of him and occasionally Techno, and his encounters with the hounds and everything in between, and the glimmer of mirth in George’s eyes is what prods him to continue for the rest of the night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream plans to leave the day after. It’s not something he’s in control over, because the police may arrive at the doorstep anytime and arrest him for vigilantism and George for assisting him. He wishes he can stay for a couple more days, but it isn’t a risk he’s willing to take. It’s better for the both of them if he leaves.</p>
<p>He doesn’t tell George, of course, to spare the other from the crushing disappointment he’d feel. Dream doesn’t want to leave, believe him. He wants to stay here, with George, and have late-night talks about their own lives and feel the intimacy of their hands on one another, and it’s all been so fast, these couple of days. His injuries have almost healed, and maybe. Maybe it’s time he departed into the night. </p>
<p>Dream hobbles up the flight of stairs leading up the building several hours after George shows him his workshop in all its glory, coaxing stories of Dream’s experiences out on the streets while he fixes his weapons. As Dream watches George’s deft fingers smoothen the chipped edges of his axe and admire the structure of his gun, there’s a pang of hurt that squeezes itself around his chest until he’s out of air, unable to talk anymore, words strained and forced. George doesn’t seem to notice, and for that Dream is thankful. </p>
<p>But, fuck, <em>fuck</em>—Dream tugs at the collar of his shirt, trying to rid of the spasms of pain—he’s going miss George so, <em>so</em> much. Yes, it’s true that he’ll be able to see him day after day once they recede to school, however. However, there’s going to be something that’s missing, like the last piece missing from a jigsaw puzzle. Dream will no longer be Nightmare, and George will never bring up any of the moments they shared at night, and with due time, all of this will fade into nothing but a fever dream. A fever dream. </p>
<p>The wind is serene tonight, tickling the nape of his neck. There are no clouds overhead, cleared now by the onslaught of rain that had withdrawn after it lay waste to the city this afternoon. Dream is about to leap off with his axe strapped to his back and the gun at his side when the metal door swings open. It creaks on its hinges. </p>
<p>“You’re leaving, then.” </p>
<p>It’s a hushed, raspy whisper, and Dream stops clean in his tracks, a half-healed leg poised on the edge. He turns toward the voice. His gaze lands on George, who has his hands on his knees as he struggles to catch his breath.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to over welcome my stay.” Dream repeats the words he’d said the first day he stayed over. <em>I don’t want to endanger you any further</em>, falls short from his lips. The slip of paper with Techno’s address resides in his palm. </p>
<p>George falls silent for several heartbeats, and Dream starts to fear that he’s said something wrong. </p>
<p>“Yeah...” He takes a step closer to Dream, gaze flitting up to the other’s face. “Sorry for keeping you here for so long.”</p>
<p><em>I would have stayed here forever if you and I both let me—</em> “No worries. I enjoyed your company a lot.” <em>More than you think.</em></p>
<p>The lights blink wearily behind Dream; his heartstrings tug without having anyone to manipulate them, an urge to reach for George running through his arms. Thoughts race through his head, and his hands quiver for the need to hold something, someone. He almost reaches forward, but then staples his arms to his side, and reaches them up again. It’s hesitant, tentative. He’s apprehensive that George will slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass if he tries to hold him. </p>
<p>In the end, through the deafening cars and rain-slicked streets and underneath the overhead of the shed, Dream reaches for George, wrapping his arms around the other’s shoulders, bringing him in close, so close that then maybe George will be able to hear and feel his heartbeat from there. </p>
<p>George becomes rigid at first, taken by surprise, but as the seconds move by in a string of shared breaths, his hands make their way to Dream’s back, and they’re embracing each other.</p>
<p>He’s never felt so safe. The world trickles away, taken over by shades of blue and all things that feel like home. </p>
<p>“Close your eyes.” Dream mutters next to George’s ear. “Trust me.” </p>
<p>Dream’s tipsy under the intoxication of warmth, and his mind is a haze of white when George’s eyes close. He takes the mask from his face and turns it off, feeling its surface under his rough hands, and proceeds to place it over George’s head. </p>
<p>He shouldn't be doing this. He really shouldn’t, because he’s Nightmare, and Nightmare was <em>not</em> Dream, and even if he was Dream and not a coward behind this mask, he would have <em>never</em>—not in a thousand eons—decided to do this. Yet at the same time, Dream feels valiant enough, that this is quite possibly the first and last time he’ll ever be handed this opportunity to do what he wants to do. So, he shoves down all those doubts and confusion, and pushes the mask a few centimeters across. </p>
<p>And with a tender stare, Dream bends down ever so slightly, lips skimming across the exposed skin before he presses a chaste kiss onto George’s cheek. </p>
<p>“I’ll see you soon.” </p>
<p>And when he departs, Dream leaves his mask and the rest of his unspoken words behind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.21.XXXX<br/>
02:14:57 AM<br/>
Loction: The Blood God’s Stronghold<br/>
File ID: 7hM9242I-4917</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream gets a mouthful when he arrives at Techno’s stronghold five days late. </p>
<p>“Hi—” he doesn’t even get to say before the pair of red eyes at the door pull him in by the ear and fling him onto a chair. The door clicks shut and bolts itself in a series of locks. </p>
<p>“Ow! The hell was that for?” Dream rubs his ear that’s now turned red. </p>
<p>“You know, when I said ‘You can keep him’, that was a joke.” Techno taps his foot, arms crossed. </p>
<p>“I mean, you explicitly stated that you didn’t want me back, so I stayed over for a couple of days until my wounds healed.”</p>
<p>“You could have gotten yourself caught.”</p>
<p>Dream throws his hands in the arm in mock surrender. “I didn’t, though, yeah? I’m still here, in the flesh.”</p>
<p>“Where the heck is your mask, anyway?” </p>
<p>“Uh—” Dream turns away. “It broke.”</p>
<p>“Liar.”</p>
<p>“I’m not lying! Seriously! It broke!” Half the truth, but it’ll suffice. “After I came back I had to make a pit stop because it just gave up and broke in half. Just like that. But! But! I swear I had it on during the stay at George’s place.”</p>
<p>“George?” Techno echoes. “Isn’t that the name of your friend?” </p>
<p><em>More than a friend</em>. “Uuuuh… Yeeeeeeees—”</p>
<p>“So you’re telling me that you stayed over at your friend’s place, your <em>close</em> friend’s place, without a voice changer, for five days, and had verbal communication with him.” </p>
<p>Dream opens his mouth to rebuke. He closes it. He opens it. “Not exactly—”</p>
<p>Techno near kicks the chair next to him as he buries his face in his hands, and all Dream can offer as an apology is a watery laugh. </p>
<p>“You. Are such. A pain.” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Dream quips back. “I’m a fucking delight.’ </p>
<p>“I will not hesitate to kick you out right now.” </p>
<p>A beat of silence. </p>
<p>“Please don’t.”</p>
<p>“What? It’s not like you don’t have a place to stay over. I’m sure you do. Even if you don’t, the school’s provided a place for displaced students to live temporarily at.”</p>
<p>“...”</p>
<p>“Oh, my gods. Dream. You’re aren’t actually homeless, aren’t you?” </p>
<p>Dream doesn’t answer. He purses his lips, too ashamed to look Techno in the eye. </p>
<p>“This is definitely going into my memory book. Dream! Without a house! Everyone point and laugh at this homeless man,” Techno cackles. </p>
<p>“Hey! Hey!” Dream attempts to whack Techno with the butt of his retracted axe, but misses when the other ducks. “I do have a house! Just not anywhere around here!”</p>
<p>Techno snickers. “Sure, sure.”</p>
<p>“You bit—”</p>
<p>“Anyway!” Techno composes his figure, clearing his throat. “I’ve informed the school and cleared both our statuses, so we’re clean until they fix up everything on campus. I also took some stuff from our dorms for the time being. How are your injuries?” </p>
<p>“Could be better. Sore.”</p>
<p>Techno tosses a vial of something pink into his hands. “Drink it. Speeds up your healing.”</p>
<p>“The hell— I’m not drinking this shit.” </p>
<p>“Stop being a child and drink it.” </p>
<p>“I am <em>not</em> a child, and no adult in their right mind would drink whatever this neon crap is.” </p>
<p>“Fine. Suit yourself and suffer.”</p>
<p>Dream grimaces, holding the vial of whatever this is in his hand. He spares a look at Techno before he uncorks the thing and downs it in one go. He nearly retches with how bitter and foul it tastes. A glass of water is shoved into his hand before he needs to ask, and he downs that, too, sticking his tongue out with distaste. </p>
<p>“That vial is going to knock you out in around ten minutes, so I’ve prepared a bed for you down the hall. Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Talk?” </p>
<p>“About your situation. Now, goodnight until tomorrow.” Techno waves a hand at him, and he takes his exit behind two velvet curtains. Dream’s jaw unhinges to call after him, to ask Techno what the hell they were going to discuss about, but the only answer he receives from the thin air is a low ringing in his ears. He shuts his mouth, pressing a hand against his eyes. </p>
<p>When he makes his way to bed, his legs are nothing but jelly, giving up entirely on him when the back of his knees touch the mattress. Dream’s head meets the pillow and</p>
<p>(there are lights. So many lights. The same lights facing George’s rooftop throw themselves onto Dream’s mask. He squints into the distance, and the horizon is gone, replaced by a plethora of buildings that touch each other at the corners.</p>
<p>“Hey.” </p>
<p>Dream looks to his side. A smile places itself on his lips (but that’s strange, because he’s not smiling, at least he doesn’t feel himself smiling). “Yeah?” </p>
<p>His mouth moves by its own, morphing into each syllable. His limbs are lead-heavy, dragging his body down into the concrete that seems to ripple underneath his palms. </p>
<p>“You know, we’re always up here at night. Talking about you, me, us—”</p>
<p>
  <em>Us?</em>
</p>
<p>“—and, well, I think I’ve come to a conclusion.” </p>
<p>“What conclusion?” Dream feels his mouth move, but the words don’t quite reach his ears. The crinkling of water floods his ears, and the rest of his speech is impaired, coming out muffled. The concrete eats him alive. </p>
<p>“I finally figured who you are.” George turns to him, a hand reaching out. Dream doesn’t flinch though he knows this isn’t right. George shouldn’t know who he is. It’s not possible. That’d spell out too many things that’ll go wrong for the both of them, and possibly throw them into the face of danger. George can’t possibly know. He can’t. He can’t.</p>
<p>Yet Dream doesn’t stop the fingers that wrap around his mask. He doesn’t try to stop George from leaning in, closing the distance between the both of them as they’re sinking into the ripples of gray. The mask is removed from his face. The lights are glaring. George looks at him with eyes that don’t widen at the reveal of his face. </p>
<p>
  <em>He knows, he knows, he knows.</em>
</p>
<p>“Dream,” George mouths.</p>
<p>Their faces meet.</p>
<p>Dream’s world plunges into nothing.)</p>
<p>He awakes with a start, hand on his face, feeling for the mask that isn’t there. He throws off his covers, swinging his legs over his bed. Dream runs a hand through his knotted hair, and he mentally slaps himself for whatever that was. A vision at the border between a dream and a nightmare. Nothing he wants to see again. </p>
<p>It plagues him, though, even when he takes a seat at the dimly lighted table, head between his hands. Techno strolls in with regal flair, takes one look at Dream, and asks him, “Good sleep?” </p>
<p>“You could say that.” </p>
<p>He takes a seat in front of Dream. “Then let’s get into the discussion about your identity.”</p>
<p>“Not this again.”</p>
<p>“Listen, Dream, it’s not something you can play around with. It’s either you throw away everything and dedicate your life to it, or you die. Nothing more in between. You’ve been in that situation before, at the fight on campus. Nearly died, too, if I hadn’t acted quick enough.”</p>
<p>Dream lets out an exasperated sigh, fingers gripping his hair in frustration. </p>
<p>“You’re only human.” </p>
<p>“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Dream explodes. “First that dude with claws and now you? Aren’t you human, too? For fuck’s sake—”</p>
<p>“You’re only human,” Techno presses on, smothering Dream’s next words. “You aren’t built to handle these fights. You <em>will</em> break if you go out on the streets again, and this time I won’t be there to save you. You have to understand—” He stops. His voice lowers, and Dream finally lifts his head up at Techno. </p>
<p>Techno. A man who fights with the agility no one Dream’s ever seen can possess, a man who can handle the blows to his body without backlash, a man who can move swifter than the winds, a man who has learned to draw blood without a pause…</p>
<p>Would it even be correct for Dream to call Techno a man, let alone even a <em>mortal</em>, anymore? </p>
<p>“—there’s a reason I call myself the Blood God. It is not a title I bestowed upon myself, and rather, was forced to accept.”</p>
<p>“You’re—” Dream’s words falter, “—you’re not human, are you?” </p>
<p>“I am not.” </p>
<p>Disbelief. “How?” </p>
<p>“A long story. But there are,” Techno waves to himself, “voices inside my head. They demand blood. Blood sacrifices in return for the abilities they give me. If I don’t kill, I die. If I kill too much, I die.”</p>
<p>“That’s—”</p>
<p>“Gruesome. Morbid? Yeah. There’s nothing you can do to help me. I can see you thinking. Don’t. It’s useless. I’ve already tried.”</p>
<p>Dream shuts his mouth. They elapse into an awkward silence dominated by the noise of the ceiling fan humming from above. </p>
<p>“Dream,” Techno starts again, and this time his voice is kinder, softer, like he’s talking to a child, “you have to promise me to do something.”</p>
<p>“And that something is—”</p>
<p>“If someone ever finds out the person behind Nightmare’s mask, you have to wipe their memories of every meeting they’ve had with Nightmare.” </p>
<p>“Their—” All forms of speech leave Dream’s vocal cords, and he is rendered speechless. “Their memory?”</p>
<p>“If they were to have contact with the real you, then the organizations will target them to use them as leverage. You have to make sure that never happens.” </p>
<p>“I can’t…” <em>I can’t promise that</em>, falls short from tumbling out of Dream’s mouth. </p>
<p>“You cannot back out from being a vigilante, now, Dream. I’m sure you understood that when our enemies fought against you. They will go to great extents to make sure that you and I are eradicated from this city so to not hinder their underground work. You will put your close ones in mortal danger if you don’t remove all memories of contact with Nightmare from their minds.” </p>
<p>“I’m— It’s— You—”</p>
<p>“Promise me.” </p>
<p>Dream is frozen, eyes locked onto the varnished wood of the table, eyes unblinking. George and Sapnap, because of him will they be harmed. Because of his stupid decision to go out and become a vigilante. He can’t— He can’t let that happen can he? Dream isn’t <em>that</em> selfish, but erasing all memories of Nightmare? Including the ones he had with George on the rooftop? It’s not something he can give up easily, not when he’s so, so close to explaining himself. </p>
<p>He’s not… that desperate, is he? A couple memories lost to ensure the safety of both his friends? A couple of memories that he wishes George will think about day and night, a couple of memories where within he could still feel the heat of their hands colliding against the sharp cold of the night? He… It is worth sacrificing for the greater good, right? It isn’t like they’d forget about all about him. Dream can still relive those memories somehow, but if their lives were taken…</p>
<p>“Okay.” His voice is taut. “I— I promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>04.23.XXXX<br/>
05:23:37 PM<br/>
Location: The Blood God’s Stronghold<br/>
File ID: 2h8G62L0-9441</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream is lost. </p>
<p>Wandering between the border of sleep and recovery while the discussion two days prior haunts his mind, both during the day and in his dreams. They are relentless, tugging at him, asking him, <em>have you actually made the right decision?</em></p>
<p>It should have been the right decision. It <em>is</em> the right decision. Dream is sure of it. A little loss compared to what Techno has lost. All to ensure the safety of George and Sapnap. He’s the one who’s paying the price, anyway, for being the reckless one. If he hadn’t—</p>
<p>Dream turns over in his bed, shoving his face into his pillow. If only everything would shut up because the world is too loud in this desolate room and all he has for comfort are the memories soon to be lost to everyone but himself. </p>
<p>Techno’s been leaving him alone for most of the time, lurking in the shadows of the house and nearly scaring the living shit out of Dream every time he goes out of his room. They’ve been laying low recently, letting the media die out before they strike again. </p>
<p>When will they even fight again? The thought makes Dream queasy. <em>You’re only human</em>, Techno had told him aloofly, and even if he <em>was</em> a human, he can still be able to act as quick as Techno, right? </p>
<p>Dream blows a raspberry at the ceiling. </p>
<p>All he needs is better technology, a better supplier of resources, and he’ll be able to enhance his skills and his tolerance for pain and strength to the point where he can take care of himself. He should be fine… After all… watching Techno fight by himself isn’t something that Dream can let slide. Without support, the Blood God would soon be dethroned from his position. </p>
<p>Dream shuts his eyes, brows furrowed in annoyance when his phone rings. The device vibrates across the surface of his bed, and Dream fumbles around in search of his phone. He picks it up without a glance at the caller ID. </p>
<p>“Hello?” </p>
<p>“Dream?” </p>
<p>He sits upright in his bed so fast that he nearly drops his phone. </p>
<p>“George? What—?” And he remembers that he’s not supposed to have seen George ever since their departure at lunch. “How—How are you doing? Are you alright?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine. You haven’t contacted me since the incident… I should be asking you if you’re okay.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know. A relieved sigh escapes Dream’s lips. </p>
<p>“I didn’t have my phone on me, sorry, sorry. I was going to call you once I got my hands on a phone… You’re not hurt or anything, right?”</p>
<p>“Stop fretting over me,” George says playfully, and Dream can’t help himself from smiling. “Me and Sapnap made it out in time. Nothing injured.”</p>
<p>“That’s good… that’s good.”</p>
<p>The line becomes silent. Dream grips the phone hard, drawing his tongue over his lips, anticipating George’s next words. </p>
<p>“Hey.” George’s voice is light, airy. It reminds him of the dream he had last night, on the rooftop, where George had repeated the exact same word in the same tone. The parallel Dream draws makes him shudder. </p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“Can you—Can you come over today? I know it’s late but…”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Dream responds within the second of a heartbeat. “I’ll come over. Right now?”</p>
<p>“Right now. I mean, if you’re alright with that.”</p>
<p>“Definitely. I’ll— I’ll be there by 6.”</p>
<p>George giggles on the other end, and bubbles rise in Dream’s stomach, making his hands jittery with glee. </p>
<p>“I’ll send you the address. See you then, Dream.”</p>
<p>“Yeah… See you.”</p>
<p>A click. The room is absent of sound. Dream’s left breathless. He shifts on his bed, slipping his feet into the shoes next to his bed. 6 PM. He’ll be there by 6 PM. No problem. </p>
<p>“Where are you going.” Techno’s voice stops him outside his door.</p>
<p>“You’ve been eavesdropping?”</p>
<p>Techno doesn’t respond. He leans against the wall, arms crossed with a foot placid on the wall. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t know.”</p>
<p>“You’re not sure about that.”</p>
<p>“I want to see him again.”</p>
<p>“He’s not going anywhere. You’ll see him at school.”</p>
<p>“I—I don’t think I can wait that long. He probably has a reason for asking me over.” </p>
<p>“You’re going to slip and reveal something.” Techno’s lips thin into a straight line. </p>
<p>“Not if I catch myself first. George won’t know.” </p>
<p>“It’s risky.”</p>
<p>Dream brushes past Techno, ducking behind the velvet curtains. </p>
<p>“Fine, then. Suit yourself.” </p>
<p>Dream’s hand hesitates before the door, and he looks over his shoulder, but Techno is nowhere to be seen. He shakes his head, slipping out the door. </p>
<p>George’s apartment isn’t that far, thankfully. Only a several minute’s walk from Techno’s base. </p>
<p>The streets are crowded with people rushing home from work, and Dream tugs his hood down farther when most of them bump into his shoulder. The sun sets from above the crowds orange and pink sprawling across the corners of buildings as the last of sunlight blears through its gaps. Traffic lights titter along the sidewalks, melding together with the noise of traffic and phones and chattering. </p>
<p>Dream reaches the apartment doors when the floating street lights blink on. He keeps his head down low, taking the cramped elevator up to George’s floor. Anxiety pools in his stomach when he reaches the door, and he— is he really ready to meet George again? It doesn’t seem real, how the other had talked about Dream so fondly in front of Nightmare. Was all that he said genuine? </p>
<p>The door swings open, and George stands in front of him. </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, and he looks exactly the same from two days before, “come in.”</p>
<p>“Why’d you call me over so suddenly? Miss me?” Dream teases. </p>
<p>“Maybe,” George breaks into a smile, and he leads Dream to the same living room, the desk uncleaned in the corner. </p>
<p>“Aw. Well, I missed you more, George.” Dream leans down and tries to press his puckered lips to George, who pushes his face away with a hand. </p>
<p>“Stop it, Dream!” he laughs. “You’re so embarrassing.”</p>
<p>“Me? Embarrassing? Never.”</p>
<p>“Never is a bit too far fetched.”</p>
<p>“Nah, nah. Name one time where I was embarrassing.”</p>
<p>George opens his mouth to reply, but Dream cuts him off, a smug smile on his face. </p>
<p>“Exactly. Never.” </p>
<p>The other lets out a disappointed grunt, and Dream snickers, taking a seat at the table, eyes scanning over the multiple devices scattered on the wood. And there, under a couple sheets of flimsy metal is a white bump alongside the stuffs thrown across the desk. He reaches over, removing the metal to reveal his mask, unscathed and fixed. He does a double-take, abruptly hit with the memory of the small kiss on the rooftop. His face explodes into flames and dear the fucking gods, <em>why did he <strong>do</strong> that?</em></p>
<p>“Do you want anything to drink?” </p>
<p>Dream throws the metal back on his mask, arms diving under the table when George turns to him with two mugs in his hands. </p>
<p>“Water’s good.”</p>
<p>George returns to filling up the cups, and Dream’s hands are trembling slightly, his cheeks aflame. He hopes George won’t be able to see it. </p>
<p>“Why didn’t you invite Sapnap over?” Dream inquires once George settles down, sliding a cup over to him. </p>
<p>“He’s not allowed out of his own house,” George laughs. “The police have secured the perimeter, poor Sapnap. I called him today and he was absolutely livid.”</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes fall onto the bump of his mask, wondering if George saw past the facade he was trying to uphold right now. “Is that so?” </p>
<p>“You seem kind of off.” </p>
<p>“Off?” Dream nervously chuckles. “How?”</p>
<p>“Squirmish.” George shrugs, and maybe he doesn’t know (Dream prays frantically; please don’t find out). “Like you’re on the edge of a cliff.” </p>
<p>“Am I? I mean, Sapnap was marked as a potential target, and you were also caught in that fight when I was out… I guess I have a reasonable explanation for why I’m a bit fidgety.” </p>
<p>“True, true.”</p>
<p>Dream takes a sip of his water, and they sink into an uncomfortable silence, both sides saying nothing while dusk embraces the flat. George stands up after a few minutes, flicking the lights on. </p>
<p>“Want to watch some T.V.?” He gestures to the couch. Dream takes him up on the offer, moving to the farther part of the living room and placing himself at one side of the couch while George sits on the other. There’s a measurable gap between the two, and if Dream were to scoot closer, he feels as if he’d break something taboo. </p>
<p>The noise from the glass screen overwhelms the silence elapsed between them, and Dream allows himself to focus on the show, not taking his gaze off it even when he notices George staring at him. </p>
<p>After many a look, George finally speaks up; it does not take Dream by surprise. “Dream.”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“I want to—” The bob of his throat, “—talk to you about something.”</p>
<p>Dream’s thoughts are preoccupied with the show. “About?” </p>
<p>“Your — The— Ah, nevermind.” </p>
<p>The rubatosis within Dream decreases for he swallows it with another mouthful of water. He shuts his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. It’s okay. </p>
<p>Outside, shadows start to dominate the city, and the traffic dwindles down, but the streets are still filled with them, and at some time after the billboards start lighting up the shrouds of darkness, George switches the T.V. off. Dream’s low hanging eyelids widen, and he blinks furiously, turning toward George. </p>
<p>“Everything okay—”</p>
<p>“Dream,” George says again, this time more firmly than the last, and it’s as if he now has Dream pinned under his hand. He can’t move, forced to look into the other’s eyes and sit there, unmoving. “I need to tell you something.”</p>
<p>“Then tell me, idiot.” His smile wavers slightly. </p>
<p>“You left me that night.”</p>
<p>Dream’s breath hitches. He freezes, a record stuck on pause. </p>
<p>“You left me,” George licks his lips, “on the roof. Two nights ago. After you told me of a close friend who you want to call more than a friend. After you told me of how you fought off those people on the campus. After I fixed your weapons, and you just left after you kissed me.”</p>
<p>Dream can’t even bring himself to open his mouth. He sits at the far end of the couch with his heart in his throat, and he swears, <em>he swears</em>, that George is leaning in, closing the gap between them, hand reaching for Dream’s like he did nights prior.</p>
<p>George lets out a shudder of a breath that tickles Dream’s cheek as he leans in next to his ear and whispers, so low, so light, that Dream almost can’t hear him because of the blood rushing through his head. </p>
<p>“I know who you are,” he breathes, “I know who you are—”</p>
<p>His lips touch the shell of Dream’s ear, and Dream’s mind is blank. It’s blank. It’s completely wiped of thoughts, a clean slate, can feel nothing but George’s words, hot against his ear. A hand envelopes his own. Dream becomes paralyzed. </p>
<p>“—Nightmare.”</p>
<p>George’s eyelashes caress Dream’s skin, and <em>fuck</em>, fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t move, he can’t move, not even to defend his name. Because, because, <em>because</em></p>
<p>he <em>knows</em>, he knows—known—all this time. That Dream was under the mask. That Nightmare was Dream. That Dream was Nightmare. That, that, that—</p>
<p>“Were all those things you said about me true?”</p>
<p>Fingers clasp Dream’s, and he’s gone. He’s gone. He’s ascended, or descended, he doesn’t know. His mind draws a blank. He can’t reply, not with George this close and his lips this close and his mouth this close—</p>
<p>“Tell me, Nightmare,” George intertwines their fingers, voice dipped in honey and caramel, “was it all true?”</p>
<p>There’s nothing Dream can do but press his hand into George’s as a reply. His throat and voice are raw when he says:</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>George leans back a little so their noses are barely centimeters from one another. And Dream, Dream has words on the tip of his tongue.</p>
<p>“What,” he dares say, missing another chance to defend himself, completely at the mercy of George’s benevolent gaze, “What am I to you, then, George?”</p>
<p>“You’re Dream. More than a friend and the bravest person I know. You wouldn’t hesitate to protect your friends when they’re in trouble, and you’re—you’re always at my side at night. You make me… feel less lonely. When I’m around you, I feel free. To me, you’re… you’re the person who I really, really like.”</p>
<p>The world turns fuzzy, upside down, when the words spill out of George’s mouth. Dream looks into George’s eyes, and he looks back, and they’re in a tranquil trance. </p>
<p>But. This doesn’t feel right.</p>
<p>It doesn’t. </p>
<p>The words. They’re not directed at him. Those words, those sweet, loving words—they’re not <em>for</em> Dream, are they? </p>
<p>Dream looks down, swallowing to quench his dry throat. The gears in his head turn, and he realizes</p>
<p>he realizes. </p>
<p>George is not talking to Dream. He’s not— his feelings, they aren’t directed toward Dream. </p>
<p>They’re for Nightmare. </p>
<p>The name had slipped from George’s lips even when he had muttered, <em>You’re Dream</em>. George had fallen for Nightmare, and not Dream. </p>
<p>Dream… he—</p>
<p>He isn’t brave. </p>
<p>He hides behind his mask like a coward. He’s only “brave” because he’s thrown himself into action with a reckless decision that’s cost him. He’s nowhere near brave. </p>
<p>And Dream doesn’t spend nights with George. Maybe a few here and there between school days, but he’s not <em>Nightmare</em>. He’s not Nightmare. He doesn’t spend time talking about his adventures next to George, doesn’t make him feel less lonely. All that was achieved by Nightmare, not him. </p>
<p>Dream, the real Dream, he, he doesn’t call George out of fear that he’s too annoying, that George won’t pick up, that he might express his feelings all wonky and wrong. George does not like Dream. He likes Nightmare.</p>
<p>Dream. Nightmare. </p>
<p>They are two separate entities, two completely different personas: one birthed out of impulse, training to draw blood to protect the ones it loves, and the other, a normal man who attends an academy and struggles to keep up with his friends and his schoolwork. Two different beings. One who lives under the cover of the night, and one who relishes in the day. </p>
<p>Dream coils back, both at the realization and at the hurt in George’s eyes when he pulls away. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he gasps out loud, covering his head with his hands. “I’m sorry, George.”</p>
<p>“What are you sorry for?” </p>
<p>
  <em>Everything.</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I can’t—” <em>I can’t reciprocate your feelings right now, they’re not for me. I’m not Nightmare, they’re not for me.</em></p>
<p>“Dream? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>He’s not okay. He’s not okay. He’s not okay he’s not okay he’s not okay. Now George knows about Nightmare, knows that Dream is Nightmare and that Nightmare is Dream. </p>
<p>And his promise. His promise to Techno. That he’d— he’d wipe the memory of anyone who learned about the identity behind the mask. Oh, dear gods—</p>
<p>“Dream?” There comes that worried voice again, but it falls onto Dream’s deaf ears.</p>
<p>This isn’t right. This isn’t right but he wants to accept it but he can’t because it’s not for him because he isn’t Nightmare because Nightmare had been the one to state those feelings for George and not Dream and now that George knows about Nightmare he’s going to get his memory wiped and he won’t know about Nightmare and their confession anymore and and and</p>
<p>There’s the thunk of heavy boots against an opened window sill, and Dream doesn’t know how the fuck he’s here, but he’s here, and Dream’s time is up. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, George.” Dream keeps repeating, and the heat leaves his hand when he distances himself. “I’m—I’m sorry.” The last word splits clean in half when footsteps reach the couch, a shadow draping itself over George’s figure. </p>
<p>Dream watches as Techno sticks a syringe into George’s neck, emptying its contents. He can’t bring himself to look George in the eye, and it’s only when his eyes roll to the back of his head and he slumps over the couch, unconscious from slumber, does Dream hang his head. </p>
<p>“How’d you find me?” A feeble voice speaks from his throat. </p>
<p>“Followed you.”</p>
<p>“You knew this would happen? Didn’t need to end it so soon, you know. Could have given me an extra day or something,” Dream jests, though the joke doesn’t seem to land. </p>
<p>Techno doesn’t answer, instead rolling George on his back to make sure the other is asleep. Dream watches from behind his eyelashes. He wonders then, if he could have the ability to turn back time and relive everything, would he have chosen a different route? Would he have thrown it all away for a greater good? </p>
<p>And his mind, as frayed as it is at the seams, comes to a conclusion that:</p>
<p>“I’m not sad,” Dream says to no one in particular.</p>
<p>This piques Techno’s interest, though. “You aren’t?” </p>
<p>Dream shrugs. There is an ache in his heart, definitely, but it’s not as big of an impact as he’d thought it would be. “Some things are left better not remembered. I’m kind of… grateful, to some extent. He didn’t—he didn’t like me as myself. He fell for another persona of mine because I was such a fucking coward and…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. “But… I’ll live.” He’ll rebuild those feelings George had for him. He will, and this time he’d come clean, make sure that they both understand each other, that they both love each other for who they actually were.</p>
<p>Techno walks over to the table, a hand picking out pieces of supplies here and there until he grabs something white in his hands. He looks at it for a moment, then hands it to Dream. Dream takes the object with a heavy heart, and oh, it’s his mask. The surface cleaned and polished, face smiling back at him with no worries to be seen. He rubs a thumb over the curve of the mask, throat bobbing.</p>
<p>“We’ve got work to do,” Techno says, cleaning up both their tracks and planting a foot on the window. “Come up when you’re done.” He exits with the slight flutter of the jacket behind him.</p>
<p>Dream nods once, needing not to be told what to do next. He crouches down next to the sofa, eyes laced with longing for something that’s slipped further away from his reach. Carefully, he places his lips to George’s forehead, leaving him with that last act. Then, he places his mask over his face, and Dream no longer exists for the rest of the night.</p>
<p>He meets the Blood God on the roof, equipping his upgraded weapons from a bag that his partner tosses into his stomach. The city is vast below him, quickly descending into the incoming night; once the clock strikes the early morning, it will become their playground, and the constellations will bend over to give it life. </p>
<p>“Ready?” The Blood God turns to him with a sword in hand, gas mask on, and voice distorted. </p>
<p>Nightmare sucks in a breath, feeling the warming metal under his fingers, and the last evening wind breezes across his face. </p>
<p>“Ready.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my spine has been obliterated from this fic and I've broken my back a-quite-too-many times vehemently and <em>and</em> it MAY be bad but IDC IM GONE IM FREE took me way too long (might dropkick this child of a fic into the orphanage who knows)</p>
<p>[clears throat] N E WAYS</p>
<p>WAKE ME UP <strike>INSIDE</strike> ON <a href="https://twitter.com/yuudoufu">TWITTER</a> same @ if u please :)</p>
<p>(techno backstory coming soon i hope)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>